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Veins of glittering quartz were embedded in the walls, and serrated clumps of the crystal rose from the floor. On the far side of the chamber, a small fountain of clear water tinkled as it bubbled up from its underground source, spreading into a pool, roughly oval in shape and about twenty feet across at its widest point. Draining from it, a narrow stream had cut a cha
A number of tall wooden posts with roughly spherical masses stuck at their tops stood around the hole.
At the base of the walls, mushrooms-probably white but appearing pale blue in the light-stood clustered in groups; mushrooms of wildly exaggerated proportions, many of them more than twelve feet tall.
Trounce gasped: “Somebody pinch me!”
“Incredible!” Swinburne spluttered. “If an emissary of the fairy nation stepped forward and, on behalf of his monarch, welcomed us to his kingdom, I wouldn't be a bit surprised!”
They moved farther into the grotto and peered into the well. Trounce picked up a rock and dropped it in. They waited, expecting to hear a crack or splash echoing up from the darkness. Neither came.
“A bottomless pit,” the Scotland Yard man muttered.
The men stepped over to the pool. Burton knelt and lifted a handful of water to his lips.
“Wonderfully pure,” he said. “Thank heavens!”
They slaked their thirst.
“Boss,” Spencer said.
Burton looked at the philosopher and saw that he was pointing at the nearest of the upright poles. The king's agent examined it and let out a gasp of horror.
The lump at its top was a desiccated human head. Though wrinkled and shrunken, it was unmistakably that of a European.
There were seven poles and seven heads. Burton examined them all. He recognised one. It was Henry Morton Stanley.
“These others must be the five men who travelled with him,” he said. “Which leaves one extra.”
A harsh voice rang out: “Ja, mein Freund!It is the head of poor James Grant!”
They whirled around.
Count Zeppelin stepped into view from behind a thick stalagmite. He was a tall and portly man with a completely bald head and a big white walrus moustache. His hands were gripped tightly around the neck of a second individual. It was John Ha
“Es ist sehr gut!”said the count enthusiastically. “We have reached the end of our journey at last!”
“You bastard!” Swinburne hissed. “You've the blood of Tom Bendyshe and Shyamji Bhatti on your hands!”
“I do not know those people,” Zeppelin answered. “And I do not care.”
Burton whispered to Spencer: “Herbert, if you can make your revolver work, now is the time. On my command, draw it and shoot him.”
“Rightio, Boss.”
“And what is the death of one man,” Zeppelin was saying, “or two, or even a hundred, when we-how do you say it, Herr Burton? — we
“When we are gambling with the world. I would say the death of one man might make all the difference, Count Zeppelin. Hello, John. Your erstwhile ally seems to have you at a disadvantage.”
Bedraggled and ski
“Dick!” Speke gasped. “It wasn't me! It wasn't me! I didn't do any of it!”
“I know, John. You've been the greatest victim of them all.”
“Please! We have to get out of here! They'll come for us!”
Zeppelin gri
“I see only one,” Swinburne snarled, stepping forward with his fists raised.
“Remain where you are, kleiner Ma
Burton said, “Let's not waste any more time. Now, Herbert.”
The clockwork philosopher drew his revolver, aimed it at Zeppelin's head, and did nothing.
Burton sighed. He turned to William Trounce and asked, in an exasperated tone, “Have you noticed how he winds down at the most inconvenient of times?”
“I have!” the Yard man grumbled.
Count Zeppelin laughed nastily. “Your clockwork toy has become a statue. Sehr gut!Now, let us get to business. I want your little assistant to go around the rock behind me. He will find there a pack, and in it some lengths of rope. Have him fetch them, if you please.”
“Up yours, you murdering git!” Swinburne spat.
“It would be more convenient for me to keep the lieutenant alive for a while longer, Herr Burton, but I am prepared to inject him with venom now, if necessary. It will cause him to transform in a most painful fashion. He is your enemy, ja?But he was once your friend. Are you prepared to watch him die?”
The count applied pressure to Speke's neck. The Englishman started to choke.
“Stop!” Burton barked. “Algy, fetch the ropes.”
“But, Richard-”
“Just do it, please.”
Swinburne hesitated, then stamped past Zeppelin and his captive, found the pack, retrieved the coils of rope, and returned to his former position.
“Don't-” Speke began, but was cut off and shaken hard.
“You will be quiet!” the count said. He looked at Trounce and demanded: “You there! Who are you?”
Trounce scowled. “I'm Detective Inspector William Trounce of Scotland Yard.”
“Ha-ha! A policeman in Africa! Most amusing! You will kneel down and the little man will bind your wrists.”
“I'll not kneel for you!”
“You are of no consequence to me, Detective Inspector. If you allow yourself to be tied, I give you my word that I will leave you here alive. Perhaps you will manage to free yourself and make your way out of this cavern, ja?But if you resist, I shall most certainly kill you like a dog.” Zeppelin transferred his attention to Burton. “Do not doubt that I can defeat all three of you, Herr Burton!” He took his right hand from Speke's neck, held it up, and flexed his fingers. His claws gleamed in the phosphorescent light. “It takes but one scratch!”
“William,” Burton said, quietly. “Do as he says, please.”
Trounce looked shocked. “We can overpower him!” he hissed.
“The risk is too great. As he says: one scratch. I would prefer to keep you alive while this affair plays itself out.”
“Kneel with your back to me, Herr Policeman. I wish to see that the rope is made tight.”
Trounce slowly obeyed, his face livid with anger.
Burton said: “Go ahead, Algy.”
The poet, whose eyes were also blazing with fury, squatted behind Trounce and began to tie his wrists.
“Nein! Nein!”Zeppelin shouted. “Das ist einslipknot! Ich bin kein Narr!Do not try to deceive me! Do it properly!”
Swinburne cursed under his breath and started again.
When he'd finished, the count ordered the poet to rejoin Burton. He then dragged Speke forward, still holding him by the neck with just his left hand, and inspected the handiwork.
“Das ist besser!”he exclaimed.