“I know that you have lost many things—­last night, for instance, you lost Tommy, and when he slept with me he told me much about you and—­others.”

“This is ridiculous,” broke in Bastin.  “Can a dog talk?”

“Everything can talk, if you understand its language, Bastin.  But keep a good heart, Humphrey, for the bold seeker finds in the end.  Oh! foolish man, do you not understand that all is yours if you have but the soul to conceive and the will to grasp?  All, all, below, between, above!  Even I know that, I who have so much to learn.”

So she spoke and became suddenly magnificent.  Her face which had been but that of a super-lovely woman, took on grandeur.  Her bosom swelled; her presence radiated some subtle power, much as her hair radiated light.

In a moment it was gone and she was smiling and jesting.

“Will you come, Strangers, where Tommy was not afraid to go, down to the Under-world?  Or will you stay here in the sun?  Perhaps you will do better to stay here in the sun, for the Under-world has terrors for weak hearts that were born but yesterday, and feeble feet may stumble in the dark.”

“I shall take my electric torch,” said Bastin with decision, “and I advise you fellows to do the same.  I always hated cellars, and the catacombs at Rome are worse, though full of sacred interest.”

Then we started, Tommy frisking on ahead in a most provoking way as though he were bored by a visit to a strange house and going home, and Yva gliding forward with a smile upon her face that was half mystic and half mischievous.  We passed the remains of the machines, and Bickley asked her what they were.

“Carriages in which once we travelled through the skies, until we found a better way, and that the uninstructed used till the end,” she answered carelessly, leaving me wondering what on earth she meant.

We came to the statue and the sepulchre beneath without trouble, for the glint of her hair, and I may add of Tommy’s back, were quite sufficient to guide us through the gloom.  The crystal coffins were still there, for Bastin flashed his torch and we saw them, but the boxes of radium had gone.

“Let that light die,” she said to Bastin.  “Humphrey, give me your right hand and give your left to Bickley.  Let Bastin cling to him and fear nothing.”

We passed to the end of the tomb and stood against what appeared to be a rock wall, all close together, as she directed.

“Fear nothing,” she said again, but next second I was never more full of fear in my life, for we were whirling downwards at a speed that would have made an American elevator attendant turn pale.

“Don’t choke me,” I heard Bickley say to Bastin, and the latter’s murmured reply of: 

“I never could bear these moving staircases and tubelifts.  They always make me feel sick.”

I admit that for my part I also felt rather sick and clung tightly to the hand of the Glittering Lady.  She, however, placed her other hand upon my shoulder, saying in a low voice: