A MOMENT they swayed and wrestled; then Seymour broke away from the grip of his enemy, and leapt backward. Snarling savagely, the wolf-man crouched, and leapt for the baronet’s throat. But the latter was prepared. Quick as thought his fist shot out, and before the sledgehammer stroke the savage crashed backward with a scream.
Ere he could rise Seymour was upon him, all the pent-up hatred in his nature finding vent as he choked out the life of the hideous creature. In vain the savage struggled beneath that iron grip. The Englishman, for the moment, was absolutely merciless, every better feeling sunk in one of murderous revenge. A grim satisfaction took possession of him as he watched the fear of death grow in the savage’s bulging eyes, a satisfaction complete only when the creature’s movements ceased, when, with a last convulsive shudder, he lay still and silent for ever.
Leaving the body where it lay, Seymour rose and entered the tunnel, whence the light still streamed. Along this he advanced for perhaps fifty yards, the light growing brighter with every step he took; then he emerged into another large chamber, to stand for a moment startled at the scene which met his eye.
In the centre of the great vault stood a throne, in shape like a large chair, and ornamented with many strange hieroglyphics; and upon it, grim and silent, with mouth agape and eyes that stared unblinkingly before him, sat a man. A jewel, like to that which Chenobi, the king, wore, was bound upon his forehead, and its radiance filled the whole chamber.
There was something so sinister about the silent figure that the baronet almost feared to advance; but at length, putting on a bold front, he strode forward. Halting within a few paces of the throne, he spoke the Ayuti salutation:
“Wabozi”
But the figure answered never a word, showed no sign that he was conscious of Seymour’s presence. Stretching forth his hand, the latter gently touched the man’s fingers. They were cold as ice, and, with a shock, the baronet realised that he was in the presence of the dead.
It was a ghastly discovery. The figure looked so lifelike, seated there in state; yet it was only a corpse, the grisly relic of some past ruler of the Ayutis, preserved from decay by some wonderful mode of embalming known to that ancient people.
The first shock over, Seymour quickly decided that he must have the jewel from the dead man’s forehead. No doubt it seemed like desecration; yet, as light was absolutely necessary if he ever hoped to find his way out of these caverns, he felt that the act would be excusable. Mounting the three steps which led to the seat, he reached upward to release the clasp that secured the gleaming stone.
This, being fastened at the back of the head, was rather difficult to reach, and, to steady himself, Seymour—though not without a shudder of repugnance—placed his hand upon the shoulder of the corpse. As he did so, the figure seemed to leap upon him; its shrivelled fingers pressed his quivering flesh. With a startled cry the baronet stepped backward from the thing, but, forgetting the steps, fell, and living and dead rolled together to the floor.
Trembling from head to foot, Seymour picked himself up, and, quickly snatching the jewel from the forehead of the corpse, he left the grim mockery of life at the foot of its throne, and dashed over the floor of the vault at a run. As he ran he noted that the walls of the chamber were honeycombed with niches, each of which contained a grisly occupant—a swathed and shrivelled mummy.
So this was the burial vault of the Ayutis, he thought, their cemetery. Here slept those whose tireless energy had built up the city of Ayuti; whose engineering skill had spanned the fire gulf with a vast bridge; whose descendant, Chenobi, was his friend.
Thinking thus, the silent forms lost their uncanny aspect. His temporary panic gave place to reverence, and he checked his random pace, treading lightly, as though fearing to disturb the slumbers of the dead. Ere long a third archway loomed before him, and, leaving the hall of the mummies, he passed into a small chamber which lay beyond.
“Great Scott!” he cried the next moment, and pulled up in sheer amazement. Before him, scattered over the floor in lavish confusion, lay thousands of weapons of every conceivable form. Great cross-hilted swords there were; richly chased daggers, their hilts set with many a precious stone, which scintillated beneath the light from Seymour’s jewel; massive battle-axes and shields, spears, and knives, all covered with strange designs, and all bright as though they had but just left the hands of the maker.
“What can this strange metal be,” Seymour asked himself audibly, “that it does not rust in this damp atmosphere?”
He examined the gleaming pile carefully, but could not discover of what metal the weapons were made. They were not of steel, nor of brass, neither of any of the numerous metals known in the upper world. Looking up at length, his eyes fell upon a row of figures ranged along the wall of the armoury chamber. They were suits of chain mail.
At sight of them an idea flashed into Seymour’s mind. Why should not one of them serve him in the place of clothes?
“Why not?” he muttered to himself, and, striding over to the armour, ran his eye over the row, hoping to find one somewhere about his size. But all seemed hopelessly too large. Evidently they had been made for much bigger men than he.
At last he managed to find one which appeared about his height, noting, as he dragged it forward, that it was the smallest of the row, a pigmy among giants. Donning it, he found that it fitted perfectly, and, though the hide suit over which the mail was fastened was painfully harsh to his skin, yet he gladly bore the discomfort for the benefit of being once more clothed.
A great metal helmet completed the outfit, in which, owing to the stiffness of the untanned hide, Seymour could scarcely move for a time. Presently, however, the warmth from his body caused his strange garments to relax somewhat, and made action possible.
First, fixing his light-giving jewel in the front of his helmet, he selected an axe and shield, then strode forward to find an exit.
In a few moments he reached the end of the armoury chamber, and here a locked door confronted him. He pressed against it, but the solid stone slab refused to budge, and, thinking to find some other way out, he made a complete circuit of the place. There was no other exit, save that which led into the hall of mummies.
This latter he was not minded to try again, having no desire to renew his acquaintance with the embalmed sleepers.
“I must break it down,” he muttered, and strode back to the door. Raising his axe, he smote hard upon the lock. Again and again he struck, the sound of the blows filling the silent chambers with a deafening clamour of echoes. Then, of a sudden, the lock gave; the door crashed open, almost smothering Seymour beneath the cloud of dust it raised as it swung back, creaking, on its hinges. Striding through the opening, the baronet moved on up the passage which opened beyond.
Two hundred paces, and a flight of steps rose before him, up which he made his way with difficulty, owing to the armour which encased his limbs.
But he accomplished it at length. Mounting the last step, he found that an apparently blank wall of rock barred further progress.
“That’s queer,” he mused, “there must be a door somewhere, or what would be the use of these steps?”
Carefully he searched for a spring or other mechanical contrivance, feeling certain that there was a secret doorway somewhere in the wall. Almost every inch of the rock he examined, pressing his fingers into each crevice, touching every tiny irregularity in its surface, yet with no result. The rocky barrier refused to yield up its secret.
At last, weary and discouraged, he turned and retraced his steps to the armoury, deciding to return to the chamber of the dead, and there seek some other outlet. As he picked his way amid the scattered weapons, he accidentally kicked a small jewelled casket which lay among them.
The lid of this leapt open, disclosing a discoloured parchment scroll which lay within. With no other thought but curiosity, Seymour extracted the scroll and attempted to decipher the faded hieroglyphics with which its surface was covered. But the task was beyond him. Not so thoroughly familiar with the Ayuti language and writings as Mervyn, Seymour was baffled by what would have proved an easy task to the scientist.
He was about to return the parchment to its case, when, turning it over, he discovered that upon the reverse side was a roughly-drawn map. This he studied for some time, puzzled by the strange lines and stranger figures, until enlightenment came to him. It was a plan of the subterranean chambers in which he had been wandering for so long.
At once the thing became of importance, and he applied himself to a closer scrutiny of it, hoping to find traced thereon the way out of his present prison. Ere long his search was rewarded. The flight of steps leading up to the blank wall was clearly drawn, and upon the third step from the top was a peculiar mark—a tiny eye.
“The secret!” he cried triumphantly; and, returning the parchment to its casket, he thrust both into the breast of his suit, then once more mounted the steps. Here, however, a disappointment awaited him. There was no mark upon the step resembling that upon the plan.
Again he drew forth the scroll, studying it with an even greater care. The result was the same. It was undoubtedly the third step upon which the eye was drawn; yet that same step in the flight, he knew, had no mark of any description. Then an idea struck him. Perhaps if he counted from the bottom he might find the mark? He did so, and soon discovered the cause of his mistake. Upon the map only twenty-five steps were drawn, while in the flight itself there were thirty.
Quickly he found the mark he sought, and, pressing upon it with all his strength, had the satisfaction of seeing the barrier above swing outward. Through the aperture thus formed he passed, leaving the door ajar behind him.
Three steps he took, then a gasp of amazement escaped him. He was standing within the temple!
His surprise over, he hurried to the doorway and out on to the terrace.
“They must have returned long before this,” he muttered, wondering that he heard nothing of his comrades. An instant later he pulled up short, a terrible dread gripping at his heart, as he noted a number of silent forms huddled in a ghastly heap at the head of the steps.