  Not knowing what else to do as he stood before the canoe, Pant laughed. The laugh did not ring quite true, but it served the purpose for which it was intended. It broke the spell. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s see.” A few strides and he stood beside the mysterious craft. “Dust,” he said, dragging his fingers across the seat. “Probably been here for a hundred, two hundred years.” “How wonderfully preserved it is,” said Kirk. “Those people knew the secret of preserving wood by boiling it in certain kinds of oil. They knew a great deal more that might well have been kept by the white man. But the type of Spaniard who came to these shores, as well as the wild barbarians who came before them, were all for gold.” As he stood there beside this strange underground sea, with this relic of another age so close beside him, Pant found himself lost in revery. He was trying to reproduce through his mind’s eye the scenes that these silent waters might once have witnessed. “What a unique picnic ground,” he said to Kirk. “One sees it still. Gleaming torches, moving like giant firebugs across the water; dark canoes gliding here and there; the joyous shouts of children that came echoing back.” “Hello-o!” he shouted suddenly. Back across the water it came to him again and again. “Hello-o—H-e-l-l-o-o-o.” “Perhaps there are fish,” he went on. “May be very large fish. Blind, because there is no need of eyes, but fine fish all the same. Can you see them, the little Indian boys fishing from their canoes? Can you catch the gleam of their campfires as they roasted their fish over the coals?” He kicked the beach under his feet and sure enough, from beneath the dust of centuries he uncovered the ashes of a long burned out fire. “You see,” he smiled, “I am a conjurer. I can read both the past and the future.” “Then,” said the other boy with a little shudder and a doubtful smile, “tell us what happens next.” “Next?” said Pant. “Why next we find a small room equipped with a table and some chairs. I have some work to do in such a place, in fact that’s what I came for. I needed a dark room. But this,” he spread his arm wide, “this is not a room; it is a whole hidden world.” Turning without another word, the other boy beckoned to the great Carib, who had regained his composure, and together they skirted the shore of the lake to penetrate deeper into the hidden mysteries of the mountain. Again the chamber narrowed. Again they were obliged to take to the bed of the stream. This time, to Pant’s great joy, they emerged into a small room walled and pillared in spotless white. “The very place!” he exclaimed. “To be sure, there are no real chairs or table, but that heap of fallen stalactites will take their place, and there is water in abundance. Have a seat. I will be through before you know it.” Unwrapping his pack, he drew forth the fibre trays. These he filled with water. Having placed them upon a circular fragment of stalactite that offered a level surface like the top of a round table, he shook a powder into one, a second powder into another, and left the other crystal clear and pure. After stirring the powder for a time, he drew forth a red cloth and wound it twice round the Carib’s lantern. The effect was startling. At once the glistening white stalactites and stalagmites were turned blood red. The Carib struggled hard against the wild fears and superstitions within him, conquered in the end, to sit impassive, watching. Opening his black box, Pant removed a square of film. Having dropped this into the first tray, he began rocking it slowly back and forth. “A picture!” exclaimed Kirk. “Do you mean to tell me you have come all this way to develop a picture?” “There was no other dark room. And besides,” said Pant, “this picture is important, the most important bit of work I have done in a long time. Upon its success hangs my good old grandfather’s entire fortune. “You see,” he went on, as he continued to rock the tray, “through influential friends my grandfather secured a valuable concession, the right to gather chicle on a large tract of government land. This tract is bordered on one side by the holdings of the Central Chicle Company, a powerful and jealous corporation. This company is honest, but perhaps they are unscrupulous in their competition. Who can tell? Perhaps they would drive my grandfather to the wall if they could.” Had not the red light hid it, he might have seen a crimson flush suffuse the other boy’s face as he spoke these words. It was lost upon him. “Our tract,” he went on, “is bordered on the other side by land owned by an unscrupulous Spaniard. “We received a map from England showing the boundaries of our holdings. It had not been in the office a week when it was stolen. Without it our hands were tied. If we attempted to work our concession without knowing the true unfenced boundaries we were sure to infringe upon the rights of our neighbors. If we did not they would claim we had, and would ruin us with claims for indemnities. “If we did not have the map back within a very short time—” he paused to hold the square of film to the light. A little cry of joy escaped his lips. “It’s coming! I’ve got them! See those dark spots, three of them?” The other boy nodded. “Three men,” he said impressively. He dropped the film into the developing bath to resume his story. “I told grandfather to wait, I would get the map. I went straight back into the bush where the crafty Spaniard has his camp. It was dangerous, but I know the bush. I was careful. I took my camera and a flashlight outfit with me. Fortune was with me. I came upon the Spaniard and two of his men examining the map at night. They were inside a bamboo cabin. I put my camera to a crack, opened the shutter, touched off a flash, and at once was away. That is how I came to the home of your Spanish friends. That is why I am here. And there,” he said, holding the film by its corners, “is the picture. And it is far better than I hoped for.” The film was indeed a strong and clear one. The crafty faces of the Spaniards and the square map stood out in bold relief. “Just a touch more,” he sighed as he dipped it carefully in the solution. “You see,” he added in conclusion, “all we need to do is to get an enlargement made. That will give us a perfect map showing all the boundaries. What’s more, it gives us proof that they stole the map.” “I am glad,” said Kirk, “that it was not the big American Company who stole it.” “Oh, they wouldn’t do that,” said Pant quickly. “But why are you glad?” The other boy did not reply. A moment of silence followed. Pant dropped his film into the washing tray, then began rocking it again. Moments passed. Only the drip-drip of water in some distant corner of the cave and the all but inaudible rush of the stream disturbed the silence of the place. “There!” Pant breathed at last as he dropped the film into the fixing bath. “We can have more light now. How would you like to take your man here and go into the chamber just beyond while I finish this job? No harm can come of it, and you might discover something of real interest.” For a moment the younger boy hesitated. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he said, “Yes. Why not?” A moment later Pant saw the shadows of his two companions in adventure moving jerkily along the gleaming walls. “Like ghosts,” he thought. Something like a tremor ran down his spine. He turned to attend to his film. When he looked again they were gone. Instantly he regretted his suggestion. “Spooky business, being here alone in this cave,” he thought. “Dark and damp—sort of like a tomb. Who knows how many human beings have perished here? This cave is their tombstone and their vault. How still it is!” Listening, he thought he heard his own heart beat. “What would I do if they failed to return? Go in search of them, I suppose. And then?” He did not like to think of exploring the place alone. All well enough with others, but alone? Well, anyway, one likes company in such a place. The fixing bath was done with. For the final washing he chose a still pool at the side of the stream. As he dropped in the film, a tiny fish, startled from its place of hiding, suddenly leaped clear of the water. The effect on the boy was startling. He jumped backward, and nearly fell into the stream. “Bah!” he exclaimed, quite put out at himself. “How absurd! Nerves. Have to find something to do.” Having completed the washing of the film, he fitted it into a protecting frame, then closed two trays over it and bound the whole tight. He finished by repacking the kit. This done, he allowed his eyes to wander here and there about the place. “Have a look,” he told himself. Instantly some object in a distant corner, quite well up on a broken ledge, caught his attention. “Strange!” he murmured. “Doesn’t look quite natural. Unusual color. Have a look.” He started toward the corner, then paused. A curious tremor shot through him. It was as if he had been on board a ship that had rolled ever so lightly in a trough of the sea. “Nonsense!” he muttered. “Nerves.” He again moved toward the corner. At that very moment, as often happens when one stands facing some strange and mysterious phenomenon, Pant thought of one who was far away, his good pal Johnny Thompson. He thought, too, of the strange message of figures and signs he had left in the office at Stann Creek. He wondered if Johnny had found it yet. If so, had he read it? Premonitions of some happening tremendous and terrifying were passing through his mind. If disaster overtook him here, would Johnny decipher the note? Would he come in search of him? Would he ultimately find him? So his thoughts whirled on. |
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