“I think he said that Harmac would come to Mur and settle his account with the Abati, and that the foreign men would be wise to fly fast and far.  That’s all I understood; ask me no more, who would not return into that cave to be made a prince.”

“He’s got hold of what Barung’s envoys told us,” said Oliver, indifferently, “and no wonder, this place is enough to make anybody see ghosts.  I’ll repeat it to Maqueda; it will amuse her.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I answered, “for it isn’t exactly a cheerful yarn, and perhaps she’s afraid of ghosts too.  Also,” and I pointed to the watch that lay on the table beside the batteries, “it is five minutes to ten.”

Oh! that last five minutes!  It seemed as many centuries.  Like stone statues we sat, each of us lost in his own thoughts, though for my part the power of clear thinking appeared to have left me.  Visions of a sort flowed over my mind without sinking into it, as water flows over marble.  All I could do was fix my eyes on the face of that watch, of which in the flickering lamp-light the second-hand seemed to my excited fancy to grow enormous and jump from one side of the room to the other.

Orme began to count aloud.  “One, two, three, four, five—­now!” and almost simultaneously he touched the knob first of one battery and next of the other.  Before his finger pressed the left-hand knob I felt the solid rock beneath us surge—­no other word conveys its movement.  Then the great stone cross-piece, weighing several tons, that was set as a transom above the tall door of our room, dislodged itself, and fell quite gently into the doorway, which it completely blocked.

Other rocks fell also at a distance, making a great noise, and somehow I found myself on the ground, my stool had slid away from me.  Next followed a muffled, awful roar, and with it came a blast of wind blowing where wind never blew before since the beginning of the world, that with a terrible wailing howled itself to silence in the thousand recesses of the cave city.  As it passed our lamps went out.  Lastly, quite a minute later I should think, there was a thud, as though something of enormous weight had fallen on the surface of the earth far above us.

Then all was as it had been; all was darkness and utter quietude.

“Well, that’s over,” said Oliver, in a strained voice which sounded very small and far away through that thick darkness; “all over for good or ill.  I needn’t have been anxious; the first battery was strong enough, for I felt the mine spring as I touched the second.  I wonder,” he went on, as though speaking to himself, “what amount of damage nearly a ton and a half of that awful azo-imide compound has done to the old sphinx.  According to my calculations it ought to have been enough to break the thing up, if we could have spread the charge more.  But, as it is, I am by no means certain.  It may only have driven a hole in its bulk, especially if there were hollows through which the gases could run.  Well, with luck, we may know more about it later.  Strike a match, Adams, and light those lamps.  Why, what’s that?  Listen!”