But he soon fell behind the two much younger men.
The monk, however, was far ahead of both of them as he took the flight
of stairs up from the gas trap two at a time.
'Hansith! Come back! I order you,' Nahoot cried despairingly in his
wake, but he caught only a flash of the monk's white robe as he darted
into the first twist of the labyrinth.
'Guddabi, where are you?' von Schiller's voice quavered and echoed
through the stone corridors. But Nahoot did not reply as he ran on in
the direction which he thought the monk had taken, passing the first
turn in the maze without even glancing at the chalk marks on the wall.
He thought he heard Hansith's racing footsteps ahead of him, but by the
time he had turned the third corner he knew he was lost.
He stopped with his heart racing savagely and the bitter gall of terror
in the back of his throat.
'Hansith! Where are you?'he screamed wildly.
Von Schiller's voice came back to him, ringing weirdly down the
passageways, 'Guddabi! Guddabi! Don't leave me here.'
'Shut up!' he screamed. 'Keep quiet, you old fool!'
Panting heavily, the blood pounding in his ears, he
111, Timor:
tried to listen for the sound of Hansith's feet. But he heard only the
sound of the river. The gentle susurration seemed to emanate from the
very walls around him.
'No! Don't leave me here,' he screamed, and began to run without
direction, panic-stricken, through the maze.
/4' ansith took each twist and'turn unerringly, with the terror of
dreadful death driving his 7 feet. But at the head of the central
staircase his ankle twisted under him and he fell heavily. He tumbled
down the steeply inclined shaft, bumping and rolling the full length,
gathering speed as he went until he reached the bottom and lay sprawled
on the agate tiles of the long gallery.
He dragged himself to his feet, bruised and shaken by the fall, and
tried to run on. But his leg gave way under him again, and he fell in a
tangle. His ankle was badly sprained and would not carry his weight.
Nevertheless he dragged himself up a second time and hobbled down the
gallery, supporting himself with one hand on the shattered wall.
When he reached the doorway and crawled through it on to the landing
beside the generator the sound of the water came up the tunnel. It was
much louder now - a low, reverberating growl which almost blotted out
the soft, discreet hum of the generator.
'Sweet loving Christ and the Virgin, save me!' he pleaded as he
staggered and lurched down the tunnel, falling twice more before he
reached the lower level.
On his knees he peered ahead, and in the glare of the electric lights
strung along the roof of the tunnel he could make out the sink-hole
below him. He did not at first recognize it, for it had all changed. The
water level was no longer lower than the paved floor on which he
sprawled. It was brimming, a great swirling maelstrom, and the water
pouring into it was being sucked away through the hidden outlet almost
as fast as it entered from the tunnel mouth on the far side. The pontoon
