"That we shall learn."
We resumed our descent, every sense, you may be sure, on the qui vive. The tunnel here inclined rather steeply; a little space, however, and the dip was a gentle one. The sounds soon became one steady, unbroken whisper; then a dull melancholy murmur.
Abruptly Milton Rhodes stopped. He turned to me, and he laughed.
"Know now what it is, Bill?"
This was not a moment, I thought, for laughter or anything like it.
"Sounds like the growling of beasts," I said, peering intently down the passage. "I wonder if the angel—there are two kinds of angel, you know—has turned loose a whole pack, or herd, or flock, of those demons."
To my surprise and astonishment, Rhodes burst into outright laughter.
"Well?" said I rather testily. "Why all the cachinnation?"
"Forgive me, Bill. But it isn't a pack of demons—or a flock of those charming creatures."
"How on earth do you know what it is?"