When they drew near to the cave, William Jones gave a cry, and pointed to the sand. Looking down, Monk clearly saw footprints. They followed them, and found that they led right to the mouth of the cave. “It’s standing open!” cried William Jones, as he pointed down with trembling finger. “Follow me!” said Monk, crawling down into the hole. Jones followed in terror. As he reached the path below, he heard a sharp cry, and looking down saw, by the dim light of a candle stuck in the wall, Brinkley struggling helplessly in the powerful grip of Monk. He had been sprung upon from behind, and was helpless through a sort of garotte. Horrified and trembling, William Jones was rooted to his place. Suddenly he saw the young man fall backward lifeless, and, with one last gasp, lie perfectly still. Monk stooped over him, and looked into his face. “Oh, Mr. Monk!” cried William, “is he--is he----” “He is dead,” was the reply. “So much the better.” As he spoke, he bent down and searched the young man’s pockets. His brow blackened, for he did not find what he sought. Then he took the light from the wall, and held it close to Brinkley’s eyes. Satisfied that he did not breathe, he climbed up the path and rejoined his trembling companion. They passed out of the place, hurriedly replaced the trap-door, and piled on sand and stones. “There!” said Monk, with a wild smile on his deadly pale face. “He won’t trouble either of us again. Come, come!” And he strode hastily away, followed by William Jones, leaving the young man of the caravan in the subterranean tomb. CHAPTER XII.----WILLIAM JONES IS SERIOUS. The two men walked together through the darkness as far as the door of William Jones’s hut; then they parted. Mr. Monk struck across the sand-hills towards his own home, while Jones entered the doorway of his cabin. He would fain have found that cabin empty, for the memory of that last scene in the cave was still upon him, and made him as nervous as a child. But the old man was there, and wide-awake, and evidently pleased at his son’s return. “Where have you been, William dear?” said he. The question was innocent enough in itself, but it was full of hidden meaning for William Jones. “Where have I been?” he repeated; “at work to be sure!” The tone of his reply startled the old man. He looked up, and saw to his amazement that William was as white as a ghost, and trembling violently. “What’s the matter, William, dear?” he asked eagerly. “Have ye seen a wreck, my son?” “No, I ain’t!” responded his son violently; “and look ye now, old ’un, you jest be quiet, and let me alone, that’s all!”