'Come on!' he cried. 'Our way lies in this direction as far as we know.' 'But, if we go forward among the mazes of these dead trees, we may discover no other outlet and be unable to find our way back to this one,' argued George. 'Never mind; let us chance it,' insisted Terence. 'There must be another entrance or outlet or these torches would not be here.' George yielded against his better judgment, and for half an hour they wandered through what they now realised to be a dead forest, but no way out did they find. Suddenly the Irishman pulled up. 'Why, in all this new excitement I had quite forgotten that marvellous occurrence upon the hill,' he said. 'Of course I jumped to the conclusion that the Maori was Paeroa, of whom you told me; but what I want to know is--How came you to drag out your own club and hold it over your head just in time to guard his stroke?' 'My belt had got screwed round and the club was hurting my chest; so I took it out and laid it on the fern in front of me when first we "grassed" ourselves. But, if you will believe me, I have not the slightest recollection of picking it up again when I rolled over on my back as Paeroa struck at me.' 'Then you expected to be struck,' said Terence. 'I can hardly say. I know that I was mightily surprised when my _mere_ broke the shock of the wooden club, for I did not see it in my hands as I stared up at Paeroa.' 'But you must have felt it,' persisted Terence. 'I did not,' returned George with equal earnestness. 'It seems to me that I had no knowledge of it whatever until Paeroa struck his blow.' Terence rumpled his fiery curls. 'It is all very odd and uncanny. How do you account for it?' he asked. 'I can't account for it,' George answered. 'Perhaps the mystery, if there is one, will explain itself some day. Meantime, where are we?' 'One thing is certain,' said Terence, ignoring the change of subject. 'That greenstone club always seems to be interposed, or to interpose itself, between you and danger--if not death--in the nick of time. Well, it's no use speculating. Where are we? In goblin-land, I should say. The very place for them.' They walked on for the best part of an hour and then found themselves at the bottom of a shallow gully, in the opposite steep of which gaped a large rent, which looked as if it might be the mouth of a cave. The impulsive Terence dashed into the black opening, followed more sedately by George, and the cave turned out to be a short tunnel with a sloping floor, which descended to the level and then quickly sloped again upwards. Small rills of water trickled from the walls or splashed musically upon the floor, where, as from the roof, stalactites and stalagmites had formed during the slow march of centuries. 'I believe we have passed under the river,' said George, 'and that tunnel was made by the hand of man--though how long ago it is impossible to guess. Ah! Here is a poser.'