Dr. Weigand stood beside him, bifocaled eyes speculative, his whiskers comfortably afloat like seaweed in the green water.
"I think we go inside when the door opens," the good doctor said.
"Inside?" echoed Fortenay. "To what?"
"To a myth," said Dr. Weigand. "A myth that was made for such lost ones as you and I."
Fortenay saw the legend then. It was far up on the facade, above the doorway, and at such a distance the quaint antique script, like its meaning, was wonderfully and fearfully clear: DAVY JONES' LOCKER.
The door that opened led downward and outward, companion-wise, to a green and enigmatic beyond.
"Let us go, my little friend," said Dr. Weigand. "It is better not to be sent for, I think."
And Fortenay went, because he had no choice.