Supposing, however, that this was indeed the secret, what then? A great deal was explained, but as much remained inexplicable. For where on earth, after reaching the bottom of the crevasse, could the angel and the demon have gone? There was, so far as I could see, no possible way of escape. There was a remarkable overhang of rock there at the end, coming down within a yard or so of the floor. But that was all it was, an overhang. It was not the entrance to any subterranean passage. Perhaps, if this was indeed the way, we had come too late; perhaps there had been an opening there, an opening that, what with the movement of the ice, was now wholly concealed. I looked at Milton Rhodes, and on the instant I knew that he too had been noticing all these things. Had the same thoughts come to him also? "Everything is still now," I observed. "That sound might have been only a fancy." He nodded slowly. "Or it might have been made by the glacier. No telling, though, Bill. It might have been real enough and something else. We mustn't forget that for one moment." "I am not likely to do so. However, what do you make of this?" "It may be the way to--the way to Drome. And it may, of course, be nothing of the kind. They easily could have vanished into this crevasse." "And then where could they have gone?" "Probably the way is blocked by the ice now. Who can say? That overhang down there--" "Is not an entrance," I told him. "There may, however, Bill, be something there. It will take us only a moment to find that out." He turned forthwith and moved along the edge to that spot where the fissure narrowed and it was filled with snow. I followed. A few moments, and we stood at the bottom. "Great Heaven!" said I as we moved along between those walls of ice. "What is it, Bill?" queried Milton, pausing and looking back at me. "Suppose this ice-mass here above were to slip! We'd be flattened between these walls like pancakes!" Rhodes smiled a little and said he _guessed_ we'd be like pancakes all right if that happened. The next moment we were moving forward again, our steel soles grating harshly, though not loudly, upon the glacier-polished bottom. "You see," said I as we drew near to the end, "the way to Drome does not lie here. Under that overhang there is nothing but rock. There is not even a crack, to say nothing of an entrance." "It certainly looks like it, Bill. However, it will do no harm to make an examination. That there _is_ an entrance we know. And, if it isn't here--well, then it must be some place else. And, unless we are too late, we'll search these Rocks of Tamahnowis until we find it." A few steps, and Rhodes halted, his left hand resting against the rock. He stooped to peer under. I exclaimed and involuntarily seized him by the sleeve. "There it is again!" He straightened up, and we stood in an attitude of riveted attention. The place, however, was as silent as the grave. "I know that I heard something," I told him.