“If it were not for this string which I hold
in my hand I should not have a notion which way to
go.”
“I dare say not. Strike a light, man,
and have an end of this nonsense.”
“Well, Kennedy, there are two things which I
understand that you are very fond of. The one
is adventure, and the other is an obstacle to surmount.
The adventure must be the finding of your way out
of this catacomb. The obstacle will be the darkness
and the two thousand wrong turns which make the way
a little difficult to find. But you need not
hurry, for you have plenty of time, and when you halt
for a rest now and then, I should like you just to
think of Miss Mary Saunderson, and whether you treated
her quite fairly.”
“You devil, what do you mean?” roared
Kennedy. He was running about in little circles
and clasping at the solid blackness with both hands.
“Good-bye,” said the mocking voice, and
it was already at some distance. “I really
do not think, Kennedy, even by your own showing that
you did the right thing by that girl. There
was only one little thing which you appeared not to
know, and I can supply it. Miss Saunderson was
engaged to a poor, ungainly devil of a student, and
his name was Julius Burger.” There was
a rustle somewhere—the vague sound of a
foot striking a stone—and then there fell
silence upon that old Christian church—a
stagnant heavy silence which closed round Kennedy and
shut him in like water round a drowning man.
Some two months afterwards the following paragraph
made the round of the European Press:—
One of the most interesting discoveries
of recent years is that of the new catacomb in
Rome, which lies some distance to the east of the
well-known vaults of St. Calixtus. The finding
of this important burial-place, which is exceedingly
rich in most interesting early Christian remains,
is due to the energy and sagacity of Dr. Julius
Burger, the young German specialist, who is rapidly
taking the first place as an authority upon ancient
Rome. Although the first to publish his discovery,
it appears that a less fortunate adventurer had
anticipated Dr. Burger. Some months ago Mr.
Kennedy, the well-known English student, disappeared
suddenly from his rooms in the “Corso”,
and it was conjectured that his association with
a recent scandal had driven him to leave Rome.
It appears now that he had in reality fallen a
victim to that fervid love of archaeology which
had raised him to a distinguished place among living
scholars. His body was discovered in the heart
of the new catacomb, and it was evident from the
condition of his feet and boots that he had tramped
for days through the tortuous corridors which make
these subterranean tombs so dangerous to explorers.
The deceased gentleman had, with inexplicable
rashness, made his way into this labyrinth without,
as far as can be discovered, taking with him either
candles or matches, so that his sad fate was the natural
result of his own temerity. What makes the matter
more painful is that Dr. Julius Burger was an intimate
friend of the deceased. His joy at the extraordinary
find which he has been so fortunate as to make
has been greatly marred by the terrible fate of
his comrade and fellow-worker.
