“Julian! Julian!” she cried. “Where are you?”
“Do not be alarmed,” he reassured. “I am here.”
Disengaging the plane from her shoulders, and leaving the straps that held it tight on the wing, she advanced toward him. When she came to him he was stepping out of the glider.
“What now?” she inquired dryly. “We are in the bottom of Mount Agrippa, and, if you will excuse the slang, it certainly has a grip I do not like.”
“I believe I see a dim light off there,” he pointed out with his index finger. “Do you see it?”
“Perhaps it is an underground volcano,” she suggested. “I feel warm.”
“Merely underground heat. Were it a volcano it would be brighter. However we will not know unless we investigate.”
Shifting his tear gun, which he had attached to his belt, to a convenient place, and holding his flash light in his hand, the young man led the way cautiously. They were on a level, ashy floor, in which their feet buried at each step; but without pausing to investigate the character of the soil they strode forward steadily. It was a longer walk than he thought it would be, and presently they became aware that there was a roof over their heads—a roof of earth. When Joan made this discovery she was for turning back.
“No,” Epworth decided. “The light ahead is getting stronger. Presently we will be somewhere.”
This conclusion was not justified by what they saw but the light began to get brighter, and after a time they could see each other.