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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 268 pages of information about Under the Andes.

“They seem to have forgotten their manners,” Harry observed.  “The approved method is to knock us down and carry us.  I shall speak to the king about it.”

We had just reached the wall of the cavern and entered a passage leading from it, when there came a sound, sonorous and ear-destroying, from the farther end.  We had heard it once before; it was the same that had ended our desperate fight some days before.  Then it had saved our lives; to what did it summon us now?

The passage was not a long one.  At its end we turned to the right, following our guide.  Once I looked back and saw behind us the crowd that had surrounded us in the cave.  There was no way but obedience.

We had advanced perhaps a hundred, possibly two hundred yards along the second passage when our guide suddenly halted.  We stood beside him.

He turned sharply to the left, and, beckoning to us to follow, began to descend a narrow stairway which led directly from the passage.  It was steep, and the darkness allowed a glimpse only of black walls and the terrace immediately beneath our feet; so we went slowly.  I counted the steps; there were ninety-six.

At the bottom we turned again to the right.  Just as we turned I heard Harry’s voice, quite low: 

“There are only a dozen following us, Paul.  Now—­”

But I shook my head.  It would have been mere folly, for, even if we had succeeded in breaking through, we could never have made our way back up the steps.  This I told Harry; he admitted reluctantly that I was right.

We now found ourselves in a lane so low and narrow that it was necessary for us to stoop and proceed in single file.  Our progress was slow; the guide was continually turning to beckon us on with gestures of impatience.

At length he halted and stood facing us.  The guard that followed gathered close in the rear, the guide made a curious upward movement with his arm, and when we stood motionless repeated it several times.

“I suppose he wants us to fly,” said Harry with so genuine a tone of sarcasm that I gave an involuntary smile.

The guide’s meaning was soon evident.  It took some seconds for my eye to penetrate the darkness, and then I saw a spiral stair ascending perpendicularly, apparently carved from the solid rock.  Harry must have perceived it at the same moment, for he turned to me with a short laugh: 

“Going up?  Not for me, thank you.  The beggar means for us to go alone.”

For a moment I hesitated, glancing round uncertainly at the dusky forms that were ever pressing closer upon us.  We were assuredly between the devil and the deep sea.

Then I said, shrugging my shoulders:  “It’s no good pulling, Harry.  Come on; take a chance.  You said it—­going up!”

I placed my foot on the first step of the spiral stair.

Harry followed without comment.  Up we went together, but slowly.  The stair was fearfully steep and narrow, and more than once I barely escaped a fall.

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