As the hours dragged by, and no one came to him, the scientist began to think that his captors had forgotten his existence. Whoever they were, whatever they were, they surely could not intend him to be entombed alive? They would scarcely have troubled to chain him had they meant him to be shut away here for ever. So thinking, Mervyn raised his voice in a shout. The sound rang round the walls of his prison in an appalling uproar, yet apparently it was unheard without. Allowing some moments to elapse, he repeated his effort. The cell rang again with his cry, but still there came no answer, and at last he flung himself down upon the floor again. Scarcely had he done so ere to his ears came the creaking of machinery, and a dazzling light flooded his cell. Looking up, he saw that the stone slab, which he believed to be the door, had been pulled aside, and in the doorway, his features lit up with a look of fiendish glee, stood a man--but such a man! Tall he was, and lean as a greyhound. Yet his bare, brown arms looked strong as iron; from his shoulders a fur mantle fell in graceful folds to his feet; his face--distorted now by its malevolent expression into the semblance of a fiend--must have been pleasing once, if not handsome. But passion had left its mark upon the features, and the eyes, cold and merciless in their glitter, betrayed the hideous cruelty of their owner’s nature. Upon the forehead of the man, bound in place by a tiny metal chain, was a stone, the like of which Mervyn had never seen before. In fashion it was like a rough-cut diamond, but much larger than any gem ever discovered in the mines of the upper world, and from its glowing heart proceeded the dazzling light which illumined the cell. All this Mervyn noted in the first few seconds of his surprise. A little while he sat gazing at the man, then, scrambling to his feet, stood upright before him. “Wabozi!” The word rang mockingly from the lips of the fellow, and the scientist recognised it in a moment. “How comes this fellow to speak Ayuti?” he questioned mentally. “Perhaps----” “Wabozi, zea!” The mocking voice, this time with a note of menace in it, broke sharply in upon his reflections. Quick as thought Mervyn answered in the same tongue, using the same words, “Wabozi, zea!” (“Greeting, dog!”) “So,” continued his captor, “thou knowest the language of the underworld? ’Tis well. Thou wilt have need of it ere long, when I question thee concerning thy presence in my kingdom. Know you that I am Nordhu, High Priest of Ramouni, Ruler of the Under-world! Who are ye? Take heed that ye speak naught but the truth, for I know more than ye think.” A faint hope flickered up in the scientist’s breast that, by telling his story in its fulness, the priest might be induced to set him free, that he might return to his friends. So he began narrating the misadventures and accidents which landed him in so unfortunate a position.