"Not necessarily in this case, Atherton," replied the Scoutmaster. "I know the ins and outs of this place very well, and after all they are not so very extensive."
At twenty yards from its mouth the cave apparently terminated, but Mr Trematon called attention to a small hole barely eighteen inches across, and almost on the floor level.
"Slip through, Atherton, feet first and let yourself drop."
Unhesitatingly the Leader obeyed. It was an uncanny sensation allowing oneself to drop into an invisible pit, but five feet from the edge of the hole Atherton's feet encountered soft sand.
"I'm all right," he said, his voice sounding hollow and unreal in the pitch dark cave.
"Follow on, you fellows," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Pass the light to Atherton, Baker."
Soon the "Otters" found themselves in a much larger cavern, the walls of which were most fantastic shapes, while the dust on the floor, no longer disturbed by air currents, showed that the place had been visited at no distant date. There were the footprints of a man, both going and returning.
"What do you make of these, Atherton?" asked the Scoutmaster, pointing to the tracks on the sand.
Candle in hand, the Leader knelt down and examined the footmarks.
"They are the footprints of a man wearing a ten boot," he announced. "They are not those of a working man, I think, because there are no hobnails. The person, whoever he is, seems to be a timid individual, as he evidently walks on his toes; the impression of the heels are much fainter."