We tumbled down into the pit headlong and sat there for many minutes wondering if, indeed, the death were passed or if we must face it again in the minutes to come. There before us, once we had passed the tunnel's mouth, stood a vast, domed hall which, I declare, men might have cut and not Nature in the depths of that strange cavern. Open to the day through great apertures high up in the face of the cliff, a soft glow like the light which comes through the windows of a church streamed upon the rocky floor and showed us the wonders of that awesome place. Room upon room, we saw, cave upon cave; some round like the mosques a Turk can build, others lofty and grand as any cathedral; some pretty as women's dens, all decked with jewels and ornament of jasper and walls of the blackest jet. These things I saw; these rooms I passed through. A magician might have conjured them up; and yet he was no magician, but only Duncan Gray, the man I knew for the first time yesterday, but already called a comrade. "Doctor," I said, "it is a house of miracles, truly! But where to now--aye, that's the question; where to?" He sat upon a stone, and we grouped ourselves about him. Peter Bligh took out a pipe from his pocket and was not forbidden to light it. There was a distant sound in the cave like that of water rushing, and once another sound to which I could give no meaning. The doctor himself was still thinking deeply, as though hazarding a guess as to our position. "Boys," he said, "I'll tell you the whole story. This place was discovered by Hoyt, a Dutchman. If Czerny had read his book, he would know of it; but he hasn't. I took the trouble to walk in because I thought it might be useful when he turned nasty. It is going to be that, as you can see. Follow through to the end of it, and you are in Czerny's house. Will you go there or hold back? It's for you to say." I filled my pipe, as Peter had done, and, breathing free for the first time for some hours, I tried to speak up for the others. "A sailor's head tells me that there is a road from here to the reef; is that true?" asked I at last; "is it true, doctor?" He put on his glasses and looked at me with those queer, clever eyes of his. I believe to this day that our dilemma almost pleased him. "A sailor's head guesses right first time," was his answer. "There is a road under the sea from here to Czerny's doorstep. I'm waiting to know if it's on or back. You know the risks and are not children. Say that you turn it up and we'll all go back together, or stay here as wisdom dictates. But it's for you to speak----" We answered him all together, though Peter Bligh was the first he heard. "The lodgings here being free and no charge for extras," said Peter, sagely. And Dolly Venn, he said: "We are five, at any rate. I don't suppose they would murder us. After all, Edmond Czerny is a gentleman." "Who shoots the poor sailormen that's wrecked on his shore;" put in Seth Barker, doggedly.