The walls and floor in this straight, descending passage were now no
longer smooth, arabesqued, polished. To the contrary, they showed a
rough surface, on which the marks of the chisel could be plainly seen
as it had shorn away the yielding metal in great gouges. Moreover,
streaks of black granite now began to appear; and these, as the
Legionaries advanced, became ever wider until at last the stone
predominated.
The Master understood they were now coming to the bottom of part of
the golden dyke. Undeviated by the hard rock, the tunnel continued to
descend, with here and there a turn. Narrowly the Master scrutinized
the floor, tapping it with the simitar as he crept onward, seeking
indications of any possible trap that might hurl him into bottomless,
black depths.
Quite at once, a right-angled turning opened into a small chamber not
above eight feet high by fifteen square. In this, silent, listening,
the sweating fugitives gathered.
The temperature was here oppressive, and the lamps burned blue with
some kind of gas that stifled the lungs. Gas and smoke together, made
breathing hard. A dull, roaring sound had begun to make itself vaguely
audible, the past few minutes; and as the Legionaries stood listening,
this was now rather plain to their ears.
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