The archeologist quirked an eyebrow at Lake O'Brien, who grinned back. The others—Sheila, Grinnell, even Syd—seemed to share his amusement. Dr. Aiken shook his head.
"I don't know, Winters," he said.
"But then—who built it?"
Again an arch grin. "I don't know that, either."
For a moment Ramey stared at him bewilderedly. Then a slow flush stained his cheeks. Oh, that was it? They were poking fun at him; mocking his ignorance? Well, all right—if they wanted to act that way—
"Excuse me!" he said stiffly. "I didn't understand. Sorry to be so stupid. Red, perhaps we'd better get ready to run along, after all. We seem to be in the way here."
But Ian Aiken stayed him with a hand on the arm. He was still grinning, but his grin was warm and friendly. "Sit down, Ramey, and don't be an ass. We're not laughing at you. We're amused because the situation is what it is: so baffling that we must either smile it off or surrender.
"The answers I just gave you were absolutely true—and no man alive can tell you more. The mystery of Angkor is this: that here in the depths of an aboriginal jungle we find a temple dwarfing the greatest architectural work of present-day Man, and a city large enough to hold thirty million souls—yet not a man in the world knows who built this marvel, or when it was built, or where the builders came from, or where, above all, vanished the mighty race which once lived here!"