“Great heavens!” said Good, starting up, “I never thought of that.  It can’t come through the stone door, for it’s air-tight, if ever a door was.  It must come from somewhere.  It there were no current of air in the place we should have been stifled or poisoned when we first came in.  Let us have a look.”

It was wonderful what a change this mere spark of hope wrought in us.  In a moment we were all three groping about on our hands and knees, feeling for the slightest indication of a draught.  Presently my ardour received a check.  I put my hand on something cold.  It was dead Foulata’s face.

For an hour or more we went on feeling about, till at last Sir Henry and I gave it up in despair, having been considerably hurt by constantly knocking our heads against tusks, chests, and the sides of the chamber.  But Good still persevered, saying, with an approach to cheerfulness, that it was better than doing nothing.

“I say, you fellows,” he said presently, in a constrained sort of voice, “come here.”

Needless to say we scrambled towards him quickly enough.

“Quatermain, put your hand here where mine is.  Now, do you feel anything?”

“I think I feel air coming up.”

“Now listen.”  He rose and stamped upon the place, and a flame of hope shot up in our hearts. It rang hollow.

With trembling hands I lit a match.  I had only three left, and we saw that we were in the angle of the far corner of the chamber, a fact that accounted for our not having noticed the hollow sound of the place during our former exhaustive examination.  As the match burnt we scrutinised the spot.  There was a join in the solid rock floor, and, great heavens! there, let in level with the rock, was a stone ring.  We said no word, we were too excited, and our hearts beat too wildly with hope to allow us to speak.  Good had a knife, at the back of which was one of those hooks that are made to extract stones from horses’ hoofs.  He opened it, and scratched round the ring with it.  Finally he worked it under, and levered away gently for fear of breaking the hook.  The ring began to move.  Being of stone it had not rusted fast in all the centuries it had lain there, as would have been the case had it been of iron.  Presently it was upright.  Then he thrust his hands into it and tugged with all his force, but nothing budged.

“Let me try,” I said impatiently, for the situation of the stone, right in the angle of the corner, was such that it was impossible for two to pull at once.  I took hold and strained away, but no results.

Then Sir Henry tried and failed.

Taking the hook again, Good scratched all round the crack where we felt the air coming up.

“Now, Curtis,” he said, “tackle on, and put your back into it; you are as strong as two.  Stop,” and he took off a stout black silk handkerchief, which, true to his habits of neatness, he still wore, and ran it through the ring.  “Quatermain, get Curtis round the middle and pull for dear life when I give the word. Now.”