wires being touched together.
There was a smell in the room, not unpleasant but not pleasant either--a
completely alien smell. A wave of cold air struck me, and passed by,
leaving me shivering. Our furnace came on with a start.

Then the lights were gone and I was looking in wonder at a leaden box,
about a foot square. It had a hinged lid, and around the middle of it the
figure of a snake was excellently carved. It held its tail in its mouth,
locking the box securely. Its eyes were two great moonstones that appeared
to look up at me with half-blind amusement--winking at the wisdom they had
forgotten and the fear that I was feeling.

I touched the box and drew my hand away in pain. It was colder than cold.
Desolate, burning cold.

It was two hours before the box became warm enough--or cool enough--to
touch. Then, after several experiments I got the snake's mouth open and the
lid swung upward on chilled hinges.

Within it was a manuscript. As soon as I looked at it I recognized the
handwriting of my old friend, Doctor Jack Odin.

Well, it was just as before. It was more of a series of notes and jottings
than a story. It took months to piece it together. Several pages were badly
burned and spotted. It was hard work and slow work--

And this is the tale that Jack Odin sent me--from Somewhere.

CHAPTER 2

Jack Odin descended into the cavern--or what Keefe had called the Hole--for
less than a hundred yards before his strong flashlight sent its lancing
beam into a stone wall. At his feet was a crevice which went straight down
as though it had been measured by a giant square. He got to his knees and
looked over. Playing his light around he detected a few ledges like narrow
steps far below. It was pitch-dark down there, and not even his strong
light could reach to the bottom. He tried tossing a few pebbles into it;
listening he heard the faint rattle of their fall, but could not be sure
whether they had landed on one of the ledges or had reached bottom.

Looking about him, he found a weathered bit of limestone that thrust itself
up like a small table. It did not look very substantial but it was his only
hope. Odin had crammed his ammunition, food and canteen into a knapsack.
Looping the rope through it and his rifle strap, he lowered them over until
he felt the rope slacken as his gun and supplies rested upon the first
ledge. Releasing one end of the rope he carefully drew it back.

* * *