Suddenly Wythe came to the end of the tunnel, and stepped into what seemed a spacious chamber, though he could only judge from the difference in the atmosphere. The torch was of little service, save within a radius of several yards.
A few minutes' scouting proved this also to be unoccupied by those they sought. At irregular intervals, around the sides, were several tunnels similar to that from which the men had recently emerged.
Exchanging glances, the friends saw that each had begun to despair. After this long and really arduous search, they seemed no nearer the end than at first.
"Come," whispered Duplin, rousing himself, "this is only wasting time, when we should be at work. Cheer up—we must find him soon. I know we will—I feel it!"
"I hope you are a true prophet," sighed Wythe, brushing the cold damp from his forehead. "But I fear the worst."
"Give me the light for awhile, and you take my place. We must search each tunnel until we find the right one."
"I fear that will be difficult. I've not noticed any blood-drops for some time. What if we should be wrong? What will become of poor Jack? And—how are we to find our way back again?"
Duplin started. For the first time he realized the full peril of their situation. Were they not even then lost? Lost in the labyrinth—in the bowels of the earth! And nothing to sustain life—no food, no water! The thought was soul-sickening!
"We must not think of that now. We've enough to trouble our minds without that. It may all turn out right. But mark the passage we came through. With that to start from, we can find our way back by the blood-stains. Drop my hat there—or a bit of rag, anything will do."
Wythe advanced a step, then paused and glanced around him. His face shone ghastly pale in the feeble light of the tiny torch. It seemed that of a dead, rather than a living man.