“If we could get through the mine tunnel,” said Oliver, “we might escape into the den of lions, which were probably all destroyed by the explosion, and so out into the open country.”

“The Fung would take us there,” suggested Higgs.

“No, no,” broke in Roderick, “Fung all gone, or if they do, anything better than this black hole, yes, even my wife.”

“Let us look,” I said, and we started.

When we reached the passage that led from the city to the Tomb of Kings, it was to find that the wall at the end of it had been blown bodily back into the parent cave, leaving an opening through which we could walk side by side.  Of course the contents of the tomb itself were scattered.  In all directions lay bones, objects of gold and other metals, or overturned thrones.  The roof and walls alone remained as they had been.

“What vandalism!” exclaimed Higgs, indignant even in his misery.  “Why wouldn’t you let me move the things when I wanted to, Orme?”

“Because they would have thought that we were stealing them, old fellow.  Also those Mountaineers were superstitious, and I did not want them to desert.  But what does it matter, anyway?  If you had, they would have been burned in the palace.”

By this time we had reached that end of the vast tomb where the hunchbacked king used to sit, and saw at once that our quest was vain.  The tunnel which we had dug beyond was utterly choked with masses of fallen rock that we could never hope to move, even with the aid of explosives, of which we had none left.

So we returned, our last hope gone.

Also another trouble stared us in the face; our supply of the crude mineral oil which the Abati used for lighting purposes was beginning to run low.  Measurement of what remained of the store laid up for our use while the mine was being made, revealed the fact that there was only enough left to supply four lamps for about three days and nights:  one for Maqueda, one for ourselves, one for the watchman near the tunnel mouth, and one for general purposes.

This general-purpose lamp, as a matter of fact, was mostly made use of by Higgs.  Truly, he furnished a striking instance of the ruling passion strong in death.  All through those days of starvation and utter misery, until he grew too weak and the oil gave out, he trudged backward and forward between the old temple and the Tomb of Kings carrying a large basket on his arm.  Going out with this basket empty, he would bring it back filled with gold cups and other precious objects that he had collected from among the bones and scattered rubbish in the Tomb.  These objects he laboriously catalogued in his pocket-book at night, and afterwards packed away in empty cases that had contained our supplies of explosive and other goods, carefully nailing them down when filled.

“What on earth are you doing that for, Higgs?” I asked petulantly, as he finished off another case, I think it was his twentieth.