With a murmured protest, Ai stepped aside, saying, “Perhaps it is best.”
Reuel advanced into the room. The hole in the floor was securely closed, and on the divans lay Charlie Vance, white and unconscious, and Jim Titus, crushed almost to a jelly but still alive. Abdallah and a group of natives were working over Vance, trying to restore consciousness. Reuel gave one startled, terrified glance at the two figures, and staggered backward to the wall.
Upon hearing that cry, Jim Titus stirred uneasily, and muttered, “It’s him!”
“He wishes to speak with you,” said Ai, gravely.
“How came they here, and thus?” demanded Reuel in threatening anger.
“They were searching for you, and we found them, too, in the pyramid. We confined them here, debating what was best to do, fearing you would become dissatisfied. They tried to escape and found the treasure and the snakes. The black man will die.”
“Are you there, Mr. Reuel?” came in a muffled voice from the dying man.
Reuel stood beside him and took his hand,—“Yes, Jim, it is I; how came you thus?”
“The way of the transgressor is hard,” groaned the man. “I would not have been here had I not consented to take your life. I am sure you must have suspected me; I was but a bungler, and often my heart failed me.”
“Unhappy man! how could you plot to hurt one who has never harmed you?” exclaimed Reuel.