'So I should think.' Mark took a more careful sip.
Again he let his eyes wander over the carved walls, noticing and renoticing details. Below the cross, and separated from it by a broad horizontal band, he observed a panel which he had hitherto overlooked. It represented a number of squat, recognisable figures worked into a design among giant fungi.
'The white pygmies?' he inquired.
'Or demons—they're all the same to Zickle. He's convinced that this place is Hell.'
Zickle's face momentarily lost its grin, and he nodded.
'This very bad place—Hell. Plenty devils. Me plenty sins.'
'P'raps you're right; you know more about your own sins than I do.'
A voice came from the outside passage.
'Zickle there?'
The Negro and Gordon looked at one another for a moment; Gordon nodded, and Zickle called back. A man, a stranger to Mark, came slouching into the cave, followed by two companions. Like Smith he wore the dilapidated remnants of a French uniform, but there was little other resemblance. He was sallow skinned, with hair and beard as unkempt as the other's, but black. He nodded condescendingly to Gordon and turned to Zickle. The black faced him with an unamiable expression.
'Got a drink for me too?' The voice was harsh, and the words, though they came easily enough, were heavily accented.
Zickle hesitated. There was a murderous glare in his eyes. Gordon put his hand restrainingly on the black arm, and murmured something inaudible. The Negro nodded sullenly, and went in search of a cup with a bad grace. The newcomer laughed.
'Great little peacemaker, aren't you, Gordon?'
He took a good draught, wiped his lips on the back of his hand and looked at Mark with more contempt than curiosity.
'So this is the latest? And came in a plane, of all things.'
Gordon turned pointedly to Mark.
'This is Miguel Salvades. One would not like to say why he joined the Foreign Legion, but it might be guessed.'
Miguel laughed unpleasantly.
'I joined it because I killed a man at home—and I'm not above killing another.' He looked meaningly at the Negro. 'You can remember that..,. What's his name?' he added, turning back to Gordon.
'My name is Mark Sunnet,' said Mark, angrily resentful at his third-party treatment. But Miguel continued to address himself to Gordon.
'Showing him the ropes?'
'Yes.'
'Guess you find it interesting. What've you seen?'
The last question was directed at Mark with a goodwill in such contrast with the man's earlier uncouthness that he was taken by surprise.
'Not much yet—only the big cave near here.'
'And this chamber of horrors. Well, you've got plenty more to see, hasn't he, Gordon?'
'Yes.' Gordon was not encouraging.
'The fungus caves and the water caves?'
•Yes.'
'And other things?'
'Yes.'
Miguel turned back to Mark. 'Yes, there's a lot of this for you to see yet. A lot more than you and most of us think. There's a lot I've not seen, but I'm going to.' He looked at Gordon as he spoke the last phrase, but the older man's face remained expressionless. Miguel grinned sardonically and tossed off the remains of his spirit.
'Come on, boys,' he said to his companions who had remained silently in the background. 'Let's go.'
He lounged out of the doorway, whistling. Mark and Gordon followed a few minutes later.
'What was all that about?' Mark asked curiously, as they recrossed the large cave.
Gordon chose to be evasive. 'Oh, you never can tell with Miguel. He likes his drink—probably thinks we've got a stock of it hidden away somewhere. Don't bother about him.'
Mark, unsatisfied, but perceiving his inquiry to be unwelcome, changed the subject.
'From what you've said, I gather that this place falls into two classes—the prisoners, and the "natives" who don't mix with them?' ^
'And the pygmies. Don't forget them.'
'What! In this part?'
'A few dozens of them. I suppose they're criminals of some kind. Very few of us know anything about them. You'll have to ask Mahmud if you want to know more. Only he and Miguel and a few others have troubled to learn their language.'
'Three main divisions, then. Prisoners like ourselves, "natives" born here, and pygmy criminals. That's it?'
'Yes, except that there are subdivisions among the prisoners—but you'll find that out soon enough.'
They continued their way back to the painted cave in silence. Mark was reflecting on what he had seen and heard. This world below the world was proving more complicated than he had expected, and, to judge from Miguel's behaviour, there was more activity than there would appear to be. His reverie was broken by a flood of excited speech which greeted their arrival at the doorway.
'Say, come in for an earful,' called Smith's voice above the rest. 'Mahmud's been getting the low-down.'
CHAPTER III
The cave held, in addition to Smith and Mahmud, four strangers. Mark noticed that they turned to look at him with an interest which rather surprised him. The scrutiny, however, was brief, for they looked back expectantly to Mahmud. Smith spoke, forestalling the Arab:
'It ought to be easier for you guys to get this if you hear Mark's yarn first. Mark, give it 'em from the time you fell in, till you moored your Sun Bird.'
Mark obediently retold of the whirlpool, the fall, the drifting through caves and passages, and the final landing in the lighted cave.
'Thanks,' Smith said at the end. 'Now, Mahmud, it's your turn.'
Mahmud, it appeared, had been over to have a talk with the pygmy prisoners. It was one of his habits to do this at fairly frequent intervals. He had mastered their language without any great difficulty, and could now speak it fluently. For several reasons, not very clearly perceived even by themselves, he and Smith felt that an understanding with the outcasts might possibly be of some advantage. In any case, it could do no harm to have knowledge of the happenings in the pygmies' own caves. On this occasion he had gone with an idea of finding out what Miguel was doing, for the latter's increasing intimacy with the little men had been causing some speculation. When he had arrived there, it was to find a state of excitement which had immediately diverted his interest.
There had been a recent addition to the band of pygmy criminals, and he had brought disturbing news with him. They had all been aware, though without a definite source of information, that things were not all well in the main caves, but now for the first time those in the prison caves got direct news.
'It's the water,' Mahmud explained excitedly. 'The New Sea is breaking through—though of course they don't know it is the New Sea.'
'Well, we learnt that from Mark,' Gordon observed.
'Yes, but that was only one break—it has come through in many. There have been several big falls like that, and a lot of smaller ones, too. Sometimes the bed of the New Sea gives way, but more often it comes in through the air shafts. That is not so bad; the water comes first in a trickle, and the shaft can usually be stopped before it gets serious. But in the big falls it is serious. So far they have managed to stop them by breaking the tunnels, but a lot of water has got in.'
Mark recalled the resounding crash in the tunnel through which he and Margaret had been swept to the lighted cave. So it was the pygmies who had caused that tunnel to collapse____Mahmud was going on:
'They're scared. It is one thing to block tunnels, but another to get rid of the water. Pumps could do it, but of course they have no pumps. In some places they have been able to make holes and drain it away to the lowest levels where it doesn't matter much, but that means that there's no room to get rid of the next lot. Besides, it's salt—it's got into some of the reservoir caves already, and joined the fresh-water streams. If the sea were to stay at its present level, they might win through all right, but the water is still rising outside, and there may be fresh breaks at any moment. They're very frightened.'