r, the Gray Mahatma, as naked as the day he was born, led the way
to the screen, opened a hinged door in it and beckoned us through; and
we emerged, instead of into the street as I expected, into a marvelous
courtyard bathed in moonlight, for the moon was just appearing over the
roof of what looked like another temple at the rear.

All around the courtyard was a portico, supported by pillars of most
wonderful workmanship; and the four walls within the portico were
subdivided into open compartments, in each of which was the image of a
different god. In front of each image hung a lighted lamp, whose rays
were reflected in the idol's jeweled eyes; but the only people visible
were three or four sleepy looking attendants in turbans and cotton
loin-cloths, who sat up and stared at us without making any other sign
of recognition.

In the very center of the courtyard was a big, square platform built of
stone, with a roof like a canopy supported on carved pillars similar to
those that supported the portico, which is to say that each one was
different, and yet all were so alike as to blend into architectural
harmony--repetition without monotony. The Gray Mahatma led the way up
steps on to the platform, and waited for us at a square opening in the
midst of its floor, beside which lay a stone that obviously fitted the
hole exactly. There were no rings to lift the stone by from the outside,
but there were holes drilled through it from side to side through which
iron bolts could be passed from underneath.

Down that hole we went in single file again, the Gray Mahatma leading,
treading an oval stairway interminably until I daresay we had descended
more than a hundred feet. The air was warm, but breathable and there
seemed to be plenty of it, as if some efficient means of artificial
ventilation had been provided; nevertheless, it was nothing else than a
cavern that we were exploring, and though there were traces of chisel
and adze work on the walls, the only masonry was the steps.

We came to the bottom at last in an egg-shaped cave, in the center of
which stood a rock, roughly hewn four-square; and on that rock, exactly
in the middle, was a lingam of black polished marble, illuminated by a
brass lamp hanging overhead. The Mahatma eyed it curiously:

"That," he said, "is the last symbol of ignorance. The remainder is
knowledge."

There were doors on every side of that egg-shaped cave, each set
cunningly into a natural fold of roc