"Say, about 250 feet per step. That would be three thousand feet—six tenths of a mile. Wonder where—"
Martin, still near the ventilator, shushed him, and pulled the coat out. Through the small hole we heard a deep sound, a sort of low pitched irregular rumble. Baker suddenly jumped up and listened at the opening. After a bit the sound stopped. Baker became excited.
"It was a voice," he explained. "I think it was his voice. It was speaking Japanese. I couldn't catch many words, but I think he was talking about us."
Now the rumble came again, and louder. A few words, a pause, and then more words, as though he was in conversation with someone whom we could not hear. Baker listened intently, but he could catch only fragments, owing to his small knowledge of Japanese and the extremely low pitched articulation of the giant. Presently the voice rose to a volume which literally made the mountain tremble, and then it stopped.
Baker shook his head. "Couldn't make it out. I think he was inquiring where we were, but it was too idiomatic. I think he became excited or angry at the last."
"Fee, fi, fo, fum," said Chamberlin. "Now wouldn't that be an interesting end?"
Martin laughed. "We wouldn't even be enough to taste."
As no one else seemed anxious to pursue this subject further, we subsided into a sort of lethargy. Even plans for what we should do when the guards came were forgotten. And then, suddenly, the door was opened.
We all sprang to our feet. A priest—in fact, the same one who had brought us here originally—came in. A squad of guards stood outside.
"Good afternoon, how are you? Chief Priest ask me to tell you, Buddha wish to see you. Please you come with me." He politely indicated the door.