“No danger of that. Even if the lamp’s out, we shall strike the iron pillar.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Kerry grimly.
They proceeded at a slow pace. Dull reports and a vague clangor were audible. These sounds were so deadened by the clammy mist that they might have proceeded from some gnome’s workshop deep in the bowels of the earth. The blows of a pile-driver at work on the Surrey shore suggested to Kerry’s mind the phantom crew of Hendrick Hudson at their game of ninepins in the Katskill Mountains. Suddenly:
“Is that you, Bryce?” he asked.
“I’m here, sir,” replied the voice of the constable from beside him.
“H’m, then there’s someone else about.” He raised his voice. “Hi, there! have you lost your way?”
Kerry stood still, listening. But no one answered to his call.
“I’ll swear there was someone just behind us, Bryce!”
“There was, sir. I saw someone, too. A Chinese resident, probably. Here we are!”
A sound of banging became audible, and on advancing another two paces, Kerry found himself beside Bryce before a low closed door.