“We came to find old things, that we may impart our knowledge to the people of our land, who are eager to know the beginning of all things. I come of a race bold and venturesome, who know not fear if we can get a few more dollars and fresh information.”
“I have heard of your people,” replied Ai, with a mysterious sparkle in his eyes. “They are the people who count it a disgrace to bear my color; is it not so?”
“Great Scott!” thought Charlie, turning mental somersaults to find an answer that would placate the dignitary before him. “Is it possible that the ubiquitous race question has got ahead of the expedition! By mighty, it’s time something was done to stop this business. Talk of Banquo’s ghost! Banquo ain’t in it if this is the race question I’m up against.” Aloud he said, “My venerable and esteemed friend, you could get there all right with your complexion in my country. We would simply label you ‘Arab, Turk, Malay or Filipino,’ and in that costume you’d slide along all right; not the slightest trouble when you showed your ticket at the door. Savee?” He finished with a profound bow.
Ai eyed him sadly for a moment, and then said—
“O, flippant-tongued offspring of an ungenerous people, how is it with my brother?” and he took Jim’s unresisting hand and led him up to Charlie. “Crisp of hair,” and he passed his hand softly over Jim’s curly pate. “Black of skin! How do you treat such as this one in your country?”
Charlie felt embarrassed in spite of his assurance. “Well, of course, it has been the custom to count Africans as our servants, and they have fared as servants.”
“And yet, ye are all of one blood; descended from one common father. Is there ever a flock or herd without its black member? What more beautiful than the satin gloss of the raven’s wing, the soft glitter of eyes of blackest tint or the rich black fur of your own native animals? Fair-haired worshippers of Mammon, do you not know that you have been weighed in the balance and found wanting? that your course is done? that Ethiopia’s bondage is about over, her travail passed?”
Charlie smiled in inward mirth at what he called the “fossilized piece of antiquity.” “Touched in the forehead; crank,” was his mental comment. “I’d better put on the brakes, and not aggravate this lunatic. He’s probably some kind of a king, and might make it hot for me.” Aloud he said, “Pardon, Mr. King, but what has this to do with making me a prisoner? Why have I been brought here?”
“You will know soon enough,” replied Ai, as he clapped his hands. Abdallah moved to the side of the room, and instantly a marble block slid from its position, through which Ai and he departed, leaving the prisoners alone.
For a while the two men sat and looked at each other in helpless silence. Then Jim broke the silence with lamentations.
“Oh, Lord! Mr. Vance, there’s a hoodoo on this business, and I’m the hoodoo!”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Vance. “Be a man, Jim, and help me find a way out of this infernal business.”
But Jim sat on the divan, lamenting and refusing to be comforted. Presently food was brought to them, and then after many and useless conjectures, they lay down and tried to sleep.
The night passed very comfortably on the whole, although the profound silence was suggestive of being buried alive. Another day and night passed without incident. Food was supplied them at regular intervals. Charlie’s thoughts were varied. He—fastidious and refined—who had known no hardship and no sorrow—why had he left his country to wander among untutored savages? None were there to comfort him of all his friends. These walls would open but to admit the savage executioner. He ground his teeth. He thought of Cora Scott; doubtless she thought him dead. Dead! No; nor would he die. He’d find a way out of this or perish; he’d go home and marry Cora. Now this was a most surprising conclusion, for Charlie had been heard to say many times that “he’d be drawn and quartered before he’d tie up to a girl of the period,” which Cora undoubtedly was. As if aroused from a dream, he jumped up and going over to Jim, shook him. The Negro turned uneasily in his sleep and groaned. Again he shook him.
“Get up, Jim. Come, I’m going to try to get out of this.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Vance; it’s no use.”
“Come on, Jim; be a man.”
“I’m ready for anything, only show me the way,” replied Jim in desperation. Their pistols had been taken from them, but their knives remained. They stored what food remained about their persons and began a thorough examination of the room.
“They certainly find an exit here somewhere, Jim, and we must find it too.”
“Easier said than done, I fear, sir.”
An hour—two hours, passed in fruitless search; the marble walls showed not a sign of exit or entrance. They rested then, sitting on the sides of the divans and gazing at each other in utter helplessness. The full moonlight showered the apartment with a soft radiance from the domed roof. Suddenly, Jim sprang forward and inserted his knife in a crevice in the floor. Instantly Charlie was beside him, working like mad on the other side. The slab began to waver to and fro, as though shaken by a strong force—the crack widened—they saw a round, flat metal button—Jim seized it with one hand and pried with the knife in the other—a strong breeze of subterranean air struck through the narrow opening—and with a dull reverberation half the flooring slid back, revealing
