In the utmost amazement I turned toward Pio, and demanded what he meant. Is this a musical composition, exclaimed I, that you seem to be reading? My companion uttered no reply, but proceeded rapidly with his task. For more than half an hour he was engaged in whistling down the double column of hieroglyphics engraved upon the entablature before me. So soon as his task was accomplished, and without offering the slightest explanation, he seized my hand and made a signal for me to follow. Having provided himself with a box of lucifer matches and a fresh candle, he placed the same implements in my possession, and started in advance. I obeyed almost instinctively. We passed into the innermost apartments of _El Palacio_, and approached a cavernous opening into which Mr. Stephens had descended, and which he supposed had been used as a tomb. It was scarcely high enough in the pitch to enable me to stand erect, and I felt a cool damp breeze pass over my brow, such as we sometimes encounter upon entering a vault. Pio stopped and deliberately lighted his candle and beckoned me to do the same. As soon as this was effected, he advanced into the darkest corner of the dungeon, and stooping with his mouth to the floor, gave a long, shrill whistle. The next moment, one of the paving-stones was raised _from within_, and I beheld an almost perpendicular stone staircase leading down still deeper under ground. Calling me to his side, he pointed to the entrance and made a gesture for me to descend. My feelings at this moment may be better imagined than described. My memory ran back to the information given me by the Alcalde, that Pio was a Carib, and I felt confident that he had confederates close at hand. The Caribs, I well know, had never been christianized nor subdued, but roved about the adjacent swamps and fastnesses in their aboriginal state. I had frequently read of terrible massacres perpetrated by them, and the dreadful fate of William Beanham, so thrillingly told by Mr. Stephens in his second volume, uprose in my mind at this instant, with fearful distinctness. But then, thought I, what motive can this poor boy have in alluring me to ruin? What harm have I done him? Plunder surely cannot be his object, for he was present when I intrusted all I possessed to the care of the Alcalde of the village. These considerations left my mind in equal balance, and I turned around to confront my companion, and draw a decision from the expression of his countenance.