They found it easily, not more than twenty paces from the start. The passage opened into a wider, loftier cave.
“Holy Mike! What’s here?” Rex exclaimed, as the beam of light played on the wall. It was a gruesome sight — a long row of silent figures stretched away into the blackness on both sides. Each wore the same grey gown corded at the waist... each face was bearded ... and in each beard the gums drew back into a horrid grin, showing rows of yellow evil teeth.
“It is only the monks,” said the Duke, quietly, as he walked on. “There are thousands of them buried here.... I was brought to see them as a boy.”
“I guess you might have given me the wire,” Rex protested.
“I’m sorry; they are a terrifying sight, I suppose. Some property in the soil together with the heat, mumifies the bodies.”
“Well, I’ll say I’m glad I didn’t make this trip alone — they’d make any feller’s flesh creep. Why, they’ve got hair and skin and all.”
“Have you never been to that church in Bordeaux — St. Michael, I think. In the crypt they have some bodies preserved in a similar manner, but only a small number.”
“No — only time I was in Bordeaux I was figuring how quick I could get to Biarritz to join a platinum blonde I knew.... Gosh, it’s hot down here.” Rex drew his hand across his face, which was wet with perspiration.
“Yes, Stifling. Never mind, it is the road to freedom. Here is our second turning.” De Richleau steadily advanced.
They entered another long gallery of the catacombs — more rows of grinning heads were ranged along the walls, casting weird shadows in the flickering light.