Moya put her hands in front of her eyes as if to shut out the picture of what she saw. "He's been there for five days ... starving, maybe." She shuddered. "You're only guessing, Miss Dwight. What facts have you to back it?" Bleyer asked. "We must start at once--this very hour." Moya had recovered herself and spoke with quiet decision. "But first we must find where the pipe leads." Bleyer answered the appeal in Lady Farquhar's eyes by rising. He believed it to be a piece of hysterical folly, just as she did. But some instinct of chivalry in him responded to the call made upon him. He was going, not to save Kilmeny from an imaginary death, but to protect the girl that loved him from showing all the world where her heart was. "I'll be back inside of an hour--just as soon as I can trace that pipe for you, Miss Dwight," he said. "After all, Moya may be right," India added, to back her friend. "It's just possible," Bleyer conceded. CHAPTER XXII THE ACID TEST Jack Kilmeny opened his eyes to find himself in darkness utter and complete except for a pinpoint of light gleaming from far above. His head was whirling and throbbing painfully. Something warm and moist dropped into his eyes, and when he put his hand up to investigate the cause he knew it must be blood from a wound. Faintly the sound of voices and of harsh laughter drifted down to him. Presently this died away. The stillness was almost uncanny. "Something laid me out, I reckon. Must have been a bad whack." His finger found a ridge above the temple which had been plowed through the thick curly hair. "Looks as though a glancing bullet hit me. Golden luck it didn't finish the job." He moved. A sharp pain shot through his lower right leg. Trying to rise, he slipped down at once from a badly sprained ankle. Every muscle in his body ached, as if he had been jarred by a hard fall. "Better have a look around first," he told himself. Groping in his pocket, he found a match case and struck a light. What he saw made him shudder. From the ledge upon which he lay fell away a gulf, the bottom of which could be only guessed. His eyes, becoming accustomed to the darkness, made out that he was in some sort of shaft, thirty feet or more below the surface. Rotten from age, the timberings had slipped and become jammed. Upon some of these he was resting. The sprained ankle, by preventing him from moving, had saved him from plunging down the well. He held out a silver dollar and dropped it. From the time the coin took to strike Jack judged he was a hundred feet from the bottom.