Part 92 (1/2)

”That's so, too--a score or more!”

Lying in an irregular oval that plainly told of a vanished cartridge-belt, a string of cartridges trailed on the concrete floor.

”H-m-m-m! Just for an experiment, let's see!” murmured the engineer.

Already he had slipped in a charge.

”Steady, Beatrice!” he cautioned, and, pointing down the pa.s.sage, pulled trigger.

Flame stabbed the half-dark and the cras.h.i.+ng detonation rang in their ears.

”What do you think of _that?_” cried Stern exultantly. ”Talk about your miracles! A thousand years and--”

Beatrice grasped him by the arm and pointed downward. Astonished, he stared. The rest of the skeleton had vanished. In its place now only a few handfuls of dust lay on the floor.

”Well, I'll be--” the man exclaimed. ”Even _that_ does the trick, eh?

H-m! It would be a joke, now, wouldn't it, if the records should act the same way? Come on, Beta; this is all very interesting, but it isn't getting us anywhere. We've got to be at work!”

He pocketed the new-found gun and cartridges and once more, torch on high, started down the pa.s.sage, with the girl at his side.

”See here, Allan!”

”Eh?”

”On the wall here--a painted stripe?”

He held the torch close and scrutinized the mark.

”Looks like it. Pretty well gone by now--just a flake here and a daub there, but I guess it once was a broad band of white. A guide?”

They moved forward again. The strip ended in a blur that might once have been an inscription. Here, there, a letter faintly showed, but not one word could now be made out.

”Too bad,” he mused. ”It must have been mighty important or they wouldn't have--”

”Here's a door, Allan!”

”So? That's right. Now this looks like business at last!”

He examined the door by the unsteady flicker of the torch. It was of iron, still intact, and fastened by a long iron bar dropped into ma.s.sive metal staples.

”Beat it in with the ax?” she queried.

”No. The concussion might reduce everything inside to dust. Ah! Here's a padlock and a chain!”

Carefully he studied the chain beneath bent brows.

”Here, Beta, you hold the torch, so. That's right. Now then--”

Already he had set the ax-blade between the padlock and the staple. A quick jerk--the lock flew open raspingly. Allan tried to lift the bar, but it resisted.

A tap of the ax and it gave, swinging upward on a pivot. Then a minute later the door swung inward, yielding to his vigorous push.