But there was no need of their entering. As the light shone in the whole scene was plainly in view. And the six stared with ever-increasing awe. Leaning against the wall, where he had staggered back, was Mark; his face was as white as a sheet; one trembling hand was raised, pointing across the compartment. And the rest followed the direction with their eyes, and then started back in no less horror, their faces even paler than his. Lying flat upon the floor, shining out in the blackness white and distinct and ghastly, their hollow eyes fixed in a death stare upon the roof, were six horrible, grinning skeletons.
Awe-stricken, those reckless plebes stood motionless, gazing upon the scene. They were too dumfounded to say a word, almost to think. And then suddenly, as one man, moved by a single impulse, they faced about and stole silently out of the place. The iron door clanged once more, and then, still silent, the plebes marched in Indian file down the long corridor to where the sunlight streamed in; helped each other out through the narrow opening; and finally, free at last, drew a long breath of inexpressible relief under the clear blue sky of heaven.
It was some minutes after that even before they said a word. Finally Mark spoke.
“Fellows,” he said, “there’s a mystery. Who can solve it?”
The Parson heaved a sigh and raised his voice.
“There were once,” he began, “six counterfeiters, who did their work in a lonely cave. That cave had two entrances, one of which we know of.”
“And the other lies at the end of the passageway,” said Mark.
“It was a way of escape,” went on the Parson, “in case the other entrance was discovered by outsiders. But subsequently that entrance became blocked——”
“And they were caught in their own trap,” finished Mark. “That door slammed as it did on me, and they were suffocated. And that is all. Let us go home.”
Still awe-stricken and silent, the rest arose and started to follow him. But suddenly Texas, the excitable, irrelevant Texas, stopped and began to gasp.