“That has been a tomb for half a century,” McKildrick reminded him. “Even if a strong, young idiot like you could breathe that air, Rojas couldn’t.”
“All the same, I am going down,” said Roddy.
“And I tell you, you are not!” returned McKildrick.
Roddy, jubilant and grandly excited, laughed mockingly.
“‘Am I the Governor of these Isles, or is it an Emilio Aguinaldo?’” he demanded. “This is my expedition, and I speak to lead the forlorn hope.”
Exclaiming with impatience, McKildrick brought a rope and, making a noose, slipped it under Roddy’s arms.
“All we ask,” he said grimly, “is that when you faint you’ll fall with your head toward us. Otherwise we will bump it into a jelly.”
Roddy switched on the light in his electric torch and, like a diver descending a sea-ladder, moved cautiously down the stone steps. Holding the rope taut, Peter leaned over the opening.
“When the snakes and bats and vampires get you,” he warned, “you’ll wish you were back among the sharks!”
But Roddy did not hear him. As though warding off a blow he threw his hands across his face and dropped heavily.