Adventure Magazine Cover — page 170: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

160 “This is most amazing—extraordinary!”’ said Kilgore astoundedly. “Our own stuff!” sed Day, starting forward. The voice of their guide filled the cavern with its richly throbbing note. “Wash,” itsaid. “Eat. Shave. Dress. Then—talk.”’ The yellow figure vanished from sight. Struck beyond speech, Kilgore walked forward to examine his own belongings, while Day strode toward the other side of that long chamber with the same intent. The feelings of the two men were unutter- able. Kilgore knelt and tore open the nearest pack and stared down at the toilet kit which fell out at his knee. Tears sprang to his haggard, bearded cheeks at sight of the well-remembered thing. “Tt’s true, all right!’ came the voice of Day, no longer sullen and growling. “By Heaven, it’s true! This is our own stuff, Kilgore!’ At this instant came a most singular sound, which drew the attention of both men. . It appeared to come from overhead, in a queer squeaking and protesting of iron rubbed against iron. The stone roof of the chamber was rugged and uneven and badly lighted; they could make out. little. But from this roof glided an object suddenly, shooting downward with incredible speed, until it plunged into the sanded floor with a loud clang. This object was a grill of heavy iron, which began at the rear wall, separated the chamber into two parts, and protruded ata distance of ten feet from the wall. While the two men were still staring open-mouthed at this apparition, a second grill came down with a shriek and a clash. This grill met the outer end of the first one at right angles, and then ran to the wall on one side. Before the noise of its fall had died, a third appeared, opposite the second, and came clanging to the floor. Each of these grills extended fully to’ the ceiling, and were formed of closely twisted iron. Day and Kilgore were now separated and enclosed in iron cages. “You are welcome, sahibs!” floated that peculiar voice, in queerly clipped English. “Be comfortable. Be happy, honorable nephew of Sir Cecil Kilgore!” _ Thete was silence. Kilgore stood petri- fied, his face fixed into lines of spasmodic Adventure horror. A cold sweat had sprung out on his whole body. _ He recognized the voice—too late. CHAPTER XI “NO MATTER WHERE YOU HIDE THE EGG, THE CHICKEN WILL HATCH.” —Chinese proverb. | B ox calmly dropped the eae butt of his cigaret. He did not perceive the peculiar emotion wnich had gripped his companion. “This is more like it!” he exclaimed heartily. ‘The devil has trapped us—a neat business, too! I’ve seen affairs like this in some of the western hill temples; they got the idea from India, probably, and kept wild animals in the cages. Well, let’s get shaved and dressed, Kilgore. This part of it seems too good to be true.” _. Kilgore made no response; he appeared sunk in a stupor of despair. When Day set about unpacking his stuff, however, the Canadian roused himself to follow suit. “‘Hlere’s my spare pipe!” cried Day sud- denly. “Bully for Esrun! Never mind the iron bars now—we’re a lot better off than we were five hours ago, Kilgore. Perhaps Severn and Sir Fandi are alive after all.” At the name of the Rajput, Kilgore shivered. He lifted his eyes for a moment, and in them was a fearful look. “Tf we had only guessed!” he murmured. ““Guessed what?” queried Day. Kilgore caught himself up with an effort, straightened his shoulders. “Tell you later,” ue said. “Any weapons in your, kit?” “Not a sign of one. You?” “The same. Unless you call safety razors weapons! I don’t.” Silence ensued. The two men, each in his own barred partition of the chamber, were occupied in removing their rags, in shaving, in searching for articles of clothing. To Day, this singular reception appeared quite encouraging; to Kilgore, it was ter- rible. Half an hour effected a huge transforma- tion in the looks of each man. Kilgore re- mained pallid, his eyes sunken, the square chin projecting more than usual: but he was nearly his old self. Day was more gaunt— he had become a man of iron, refined and , hardened in the fire of torture and suffering. Go 0)(0 (0) ANCE cS