“Have a care!” Chenobi warned in a whisper, as they resumed their way. Warily they crept forward, step by step, towards the light, unseen by the ghoulish creatures who passed to and fro bearing huge burdens. Reaching the end of the tunnel, the two men crouched there a while, Seymour marvelling at the scene before him. It was stupendous, amazing! A vast cavern, immense beyond description, seeming to stretch away into infinite distance, all ablaze with a crimson glow which burst from the mouth of a yawning pit; and in the midst of it--a medley of flying rods and clanging levers--loomed a machine, indistinct by reason of the rapidity of its motion, and vaster than aught Seymour had ever seen before. To and from this miracle of mechanism toiled a multitude of wolf-men, each staggering beneath a mighty load. In the glare from the pit they looked like demons, the illusion being heightened by the weird cries to which they gave utterance, and which rang high above the clash and rattle of the machinery. “See!” roared Chenobi suddenly, his voice almost lost in the din of the clanging levers, “our friend!” Across the floor, walking as one dazed, came Wilson. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand he held a hammer of curious make. “Wilson!” Seymour almost screamed the word in his eagerness to attract the notice of his friend; but the lad strode on, utterly oblivious of the close proximity of the two who had come to save him. “Wilson! Tom” Still no sign from the engineer. Like one walking in his sleep, he moved on over the floor of the cavern. Then Seymour did a bold thing. Rising from his concealment, he stepped into the glare after his friend, and placed his hand upon his shoulder. At the touch the lad swung round sharply, and the light of intellect came back into his dull eyes. “Seymour.” His lips framed the word, but no sound passed them, and he staggered as though about to fall. “Steady, old man,” cried the baronet, supporting him to the mouth of the passage. Each instant he expected to hear a yell from the savages, telling that his presence was discovered. But they appeared too intent upon their work to note his movements, and hope rose high within him that he would be able to get his friend away unobserved. “We have succeeded,” he burst out rapturously to Chenobi, as he rejoined him. “Not so,” thundered a voice behind him; “by Ramouni, ye have _failed!”_ Quick as thought Seymour turned. Almost at his shoulder, a grin of malignant triumph making his features fiend-like in their expression, stood Nordhu, priest of the wolf-men. CHAPTER XXIX. HOW RAHEE ASSISTED THE FUGITIVES. FOR a few seconds the baronet stood as though turned to stone, success had seemed so near. By some lucky chance Wilson had almost walked into their arms. Another few moments and they would have got him safely away, but, in the very instant of their triumph, Nordhu had again checkmated them.