Turning without another word, the other boy beckoned to the great Carib, who had regained his composure, and together they skirted the shore of the lake to penetrate deeper into the hidden mysteries of the mountain.
Again the chamber narrowed. Again they were obliged to take to the bed of the stream.
This time, to Pant’s great joy, they emerged into a small room walled and pillared in spotless white.
“The very place!” he exclaimed. “To be sure, there are no real chairs or table, but that heap of fallen stalactites will take their place, and there is water in abundance. Have a seat. I will be through before you know it.”
Unwrapping his pack, he drew forth the fibre trays. These he filled with water. Having placed them upon a circular fragment of stalactite that offered a level surface like the top of a round table, he shook a powder into one, a second powder into another, and left the other crystal clear and pure.
After stirring the powder for a time, he drew forth a red cloth and wound it twice round the Carib’s lantern.
The effect was startling. At once the glistening white stalactites and stalagmites were turned blood red. The Carib struggled hard against the wild fears and superstitions within him, conquered in the end, to sit impassive, watching.
Opening his black box, Pant removed a square of film. Having dropped this into the first tray, he began rocking it slowly back and forth.
“A picture!” exclaimed Kirk. “Do you mean to tell me you have come all this way to develop a picture?”
“There was no other dark room. And besides,” said Pant, “this picture is important, the most important bit of work I have done in a long time. Upon its success hangs my good old grandfather’s entire fortune.