by Roger Bax
Garve grinned. “You certainly do try and put a fellow off. First the tunnel and then the quarries. I believe you regard the underground portions of Jerusalem as your special preserve.”
“If you’re suggesting that I’m trying to keep you away because I’ve something to hide …” began Hayson slowly.
“I was joking,” said Garve, surprised at the man’s resentment.
“That’s all right. At least you’ll admit that my warnings about the tunnel were justified.”
“Unquestionably,” said Garve with a rueful hand on his face. “But I’m afraid warnings don’t stop me. I’m one of those rash fellows who rarely listen to advice when I’ve made up my mind.”
“You mean—you intend to search anyway—whether I come with you or not.”
“Certainly,” said Garve without meaning it at all.
“And you intend to go to-night?”
Garve thought of Esther left for Hayson to visit, but decided to risk the bluff. “I shall go to-night. If there is a dump the police ought to know without delay.”
“Have you told the police of your suspicions?”
Garve shook his head. Not till afterwards did he realize his lack of caution. “I want the story first. When they know, the world will know too.”
Hayson appeared to consider the matter, and suddenly shrugged his shoulders. “Well, if you’re as set on it as all that I suppose I’ll have to humour you. But please remember, if either of us comes to grief, that it was you who suggested the trip. If there is a dump, it may be guarded, and then we’re for it. You realize that?”
“You take such care of me,” Garve murmured. “I can’t think why.” Again it was dangerous ground, but the temptation was great.
Hayson either did not notice the implication or pretended not to.
“I shouldn’t like to be held responsible for the death of so distinguished a member of the journalistic profession,” he said lightly.
Garve grinned. “You certainly do look on the bright side.” Suddenly his mood changed, and he became businesslike and serious. “Tell me, what equipment do we need, if any?”
“Old clothes and something to light the way. Nailed boots. We’d better take a length of rope too—just in case of difficulty. I’ll get my things together and meet you outside the quarries—say in an hour. Have you your own torch?”
“Yes—a good one. Shall I bring some grub?”
“It isn’t necessary—we shan’t be in there more than an hour or two—but just as you like.”
Garve departed at once, glad to be active again, and keen to be started. The glimpse of a light in Esther’s room was reassuring. Just in case Hayson contemplated a quick visit, she would be well out of the way. The thought passed through Garve’s mind that perhaps Hayson would try to give him the slip. Suppose he did not keep his appointment at the quarries at all, but went over to Esther’s instead?
Garve considered the possiblity and rejected it. For some reason Hayson was clearly determined not to let him visit the quarries alone. Was it feasible, after all, that the man had something to conceal down there?—in spite of his indignant disclaimer? Was it possible that his story about the Ark of the Covenant and all the rest of it was just a blind? True he had shown Esther some hieroglyphics, but that was easy, for Esther would hardly know hieroglyphics from turnips—particularly in her present frame of mind. Garve proceeded on his way, confident that he would meet Hayson at the appointed place.
The preliminary preparations for expeditions of this sort were by now becoming a matter of ordinary routine to Garve. The tweeds he had worn in the tunnel had been dried by the hotel staff, and the bloodstains cleaned off without comment. He wore again the cloth cap which had saved his head so many times in the tunnel. He carefully cleaned and reloaded his gun, refilled his flask with whisky, and put a new battery in the most powerful of his collection of torches. Before he left he ordered and consumed a quick sandwich and put an additional packet in his pocket as a precaution. Finally he filled his pipe to his satisfaction, lighted it, and set off for the Quarries just as dusk was falling.
9. In Solomon’s Quarries
The entrance to Solomon’s Quarries is roughly midway between Damascus Gate and Herod’s Gate, on the north side of Jerusalem. Hayson was already waiting when Garve arrived. He had a rucksack over his shoulder, from which the end of a coil of rope was peeping, and he carried a powerful torch, similar to Garve’s. They plunged at once into the quarries. On the left as they entered was a small table, where, in the daytime, an ancient Arab sat and sold candles and masonic curios to tourists.
“He’s been having a thin time lately,” said Hayson. “I doubt if anybody has been near the place except myself during the last few weeks.”
“Yourself and Esther,” thought Garve, but said nothing. He asked aloud, “Why masonic curios?”
“Masons from all over the world forgather here. There’s a theory that the builders of the temple were the first Freemasons, and they sometimes hold lodge meetings down here at night. But not lately.”
“Does your Arab friend still come here when there are no tourists?”
“Oh yes. He knows he will always get a few piastres from me, and he’s useful on the rare occasions when I want any help. Besides, there’s always the possibility that some stranger might drop in, and it’s a point of honour with the old man to warn every visitor against the frightful precipices inside.”
“Very useful. And I suppose he checks them out, and, if they didn’t come, he could raise the alarm.”
“That’s the theory, but it wouldn’t be much use, because anyone who really got lost inside would very soon break his neck trying to get out.”
“Still, it would be comforting to know that somebody knew one’s whereabouts. Now if we were to lose ourselves to-night, nobody would know anything.”
“Nobody,” said Hayson grimly.
“All the more reason for being careful,” thought Garve, and from that moment he remained alert in mind and body.
They quickly left the small patch of daylight which penetrated the mouth of the quarry, and descended sharply down a wide smooth passage, which presently broadened into a huge cavern. Their twin torches threw beams like searchlights on the walls near by, but, as in the lower cavern which Garve had already visited alone, the roof and distant walls were lost to sight.
“It’s very beautiful,” said Garve in wonder. “The stone looks so clean and white.”
“It’s a remarkable stone,” Hayson declared as they stopped to examine it. “Up here it’s soft to work as well as white. When it’s exposed to the atmosphere, though, it gets hard very quickly. That’s why it’s so excellent for building. Down below, the rock is harder and different altogether.”
“You can see it’s an artificial excavation,” said Garve, studying the markings.
“No doubt about that. Solomon’s men had a Herculean task. I should say there’s enough stone been taken out of this quarry to build the whole city of Jerusalem twice over.”
Suddenly a dark patch high up on the wall dislodged itself and came fluttering through the torchlight past Garve’s head into the darkness behind.
“Bats,” said Hayson. “Thousands of them. You’ll get used to them before you see daylight again.”
Garve felt a little shiver run down his spine at Hayson’s words. “Before you see daylight again!” It sounded almost like a threat. Was it possible, after all, that Hayson was hoping to leave his rival’s body in the cave? If so, Garve had played his game to the last detail. Yet what could the man do? Push him down a precipice? Garve would see that that did not happen. Hayson might have a gun, but Garve had one too, and was used to producing it quickly and unexpectedly when required. In physical strength and toughness, Garve knew himself to be Hayson’s superior. A rough-house with him would not last so long as it had done with Jameel. In any case, he was almost certainly alarming himself for nothing, but it was curious that he had placed himself in almost exactly the same
position on this night as on the night before with Jameel. Fortunately, Hayson, like Jameel, was the guide, and at all times would have to go first.
“There are seven passages leading out of this cavern in various directions,” said Hayson. “They are all more or less on the same level, and all but one end in a cul-de-sac. At the end of them you can see in each case where the quarrying operations finished. Had they been continued they would have emerged on some hillside or other, but the quarrying stopped short each time. Naturally, this is the least interesting level of the whole quarry. It is the only part that visitors usually see—and it is the safest. Now, if you follow me closely we’ll find the passage that isn’t a dead end.”
“Where was it that you found your hieroglyphics?” asked Garve.
“Eh? Oh, those! Right down at the bottom. Near the cave that you discovered yourself. There’s another level before we get there, and a good deal of climbing about to do. You’ll be stiff to-morrow.”
“I’m stiff already,” said Garve cheerfully. “I feel like a troglodyte after all the underground work I’ve been doing during the last few days.”
“Underground work seems to describe your activities very accurately,” said Hayson. “Come on.”
Leading by a yard or so, he struck straight across the great chamber, Garve following closely. They plodded along for perhaps twenty yards, and then Hayson swung right at an angle of ninety degrees, and, a little farther on, right again. In a few minutes, Garve gave up trying to keep his bearings. Either this great cathedral of rock was vaster than anything he had dreamed of, or else Hayson was deliberately trying to mislead him.
“Wouldn’t it have been quicker to walk round the wall till we came to the passage?” Garve suggested, thinking of his own explorations.
“You must take it that I know the best way,” replied Hayson tersely.
As he spoke his torch revealed the mouth of the tunnel they were seeking. Its walls were cleanly hewn and straight, with here and there niches where the Phoenician workmen, so Hayson said, had placed their lamps. The going was easy compared with Hezekiah’s Tunnel, and Garve was about to comment on the fact when the passage came to an abrupt end. Unlike the other tunnels which Hayson had referred to it was blocked, not by rock and rubble, but by a well-built stone wall.
“Hallo, have we taken the wrong turning?” asked Garve suspiciously, flashing his light at Hayson. “I thought you said this wouldn’t be a cul-de-sac.”
“It isn’t,” said Hayson coldly. “Please believe that I know what I’m doing.”
“Sorry,” said Garve. “What do we do—cry ‘Open Sesame’?”
“This,” said Hayson didactically, “is a sunken portion of the temple wall. If you flash your torch in the corner there to the right you’ll see there’s a slit about a foot wide running up to the tunnel roof.”
Garve obeyed, and his torch discovered the dark crack. “Are you suggesting we get through there, Hayson?”
“It’s the only way. I’ve often done it, and if anything you’re a shade less bulky than I am. There is another alternative, if you prefer it—an eighty-foot drop from the cavern we’ve just left. If we’d walked round the walls as you suggested, we’d have fallen into it. The Phoenicians probably had a way down, but some part of the path must have crumbled away.”
Garve regarded him curiously, shielding his torch so that the full glare did not fall on Hayson’s face.
“Do you mean to tell me you’ve learned all these things in a month or two, exploring on your own?”
“I’ve had a little guidance, of course,” said Hayson briefly. “Well, let’s get through.”
“After you,” said Garve promptly. It wasn’t a situation that he liked, and he began to realize that his faith in his own powers of self-protection had erred on the side of optimism. Whether he went first or last, he would be helpless as a child as he passed through that narrow aperture. The feeling that Hayson had brought him here to kill him returned in full force. If Hayson, having squeezed through, had placed himself in a position in the slightest degree threatening, Garve would have produced his gun then and there. But Hayson’s own hands were well away from his pockets, and the one which did not hold the torch helped Garve.
“I can’t pretend to explain all these curious holes and passages,” said Hayson. They were stooping now in another narrower and more hastily hewn tunnel. “I expect they all served some ancient purpose.”
“Or some modern one,” amended Garve. “This particular bit looks to me to have been broken through fairly recently.”
“Perhaps,” said Hayson non-committally. “Now then—mind your step.”
They descended so sharply that at times they had to find hand-hold as well as foot-hold on the uneven floor. “Keep well to the right,” called Hayson. “There’s nothing on your left now but space.”
Garve groped for the wall at his right and pressed his back against it, then he swept his torch round in front of him. They were on a sort of rock ledge not more than three feet wide, and at their feet a black hole gaped.
Hayson suddenly gripped his arm and he jumped violently. “It’s all right. I only wanted to make sure of you in case you were troubled with vertigo. Listen!”
Garve stood motionless as the rock itself and strained his ears. They were too deep down in the heart of this hollow mountain of stone for any sound from the outside world to reach them. Garve’s ears had first to become attuned to the awful silence before he realized that, far below them, water was running.
He shivered. “How deep is the hole?”
“I don’t know. Possibly no-one ever will know exactly.” Hayson stooped and picked up a heavy piece of rock. Taking care not to lose his balance, he heaved it over clear of the edge.
It fell for perhaps two seconds. To Garve they seemed like sixty. Out of the depths came a dull “plop,” and then silence again except for the steady trickle of the underground stream.
“I should say a hundred feet,” announced Hayson. “Presently we shall come out into another chamber—I call it the central chamber for convenience, since it’s in the middle level—and all along one side of it there’s another drop like this. It isn’t a place for weak nerves, is it?”
“Nor for solitary exploration,” said Garve with emphasis. He knew that the remark cast not a little doubt on Hayson’s veracity, since the man had certainly given the impression that his researches had been conducted in secret. Hayson could not have missed the implication, but he no longer seemed to care what Garve thought about him or his work. There was something sinister in his very indifference. His tone almost suggested that what Garve did or said or thought no longer mattered.
They had just started to move again along the ledge when the first accident happened. Hayson stumbled, as it was so easy to do on the rough ground, and dropped his torch as he clutched at the wall. It struck the ground awkwardly and clattered over the edge of the chasm.
“Damnation,” ejaculated Hayson, staring in futile anger into the abyss. “That was unforgivably careless of me.”
Garve’s torch was still throwing a strong white beam ahead, and looked good for hours. “It’s certainly devilish awkward,” he said.
“I ought to have kept tight hold of it.” Hayson seemed completely crestfallen. “It must have been a case of familiarity breeding contempt. I’ve been over this ledge so often that I didn’t pay it sufficient respect.”
Garve became a little irritated. “Never mind, man; it isn’t a matter of life and death. Now, if you’d fallen over yourself …”
That seemed to set Hayson off again. “We’d better go back, Garve. We can’t feel our way.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Garve. “I’m not leaving till I’ve seen all there is to see. We’ve got one perfectly good torch throwing a beam like a lighthouse, and that’s all that is necessary.”
“Suppose anything goes wrong with it?” suggested Hayson nervously.
“Suppose the roof falls in!” Garve was beginning to
suspect that the man was a craven at heart. Hayson was a very different person now from the iron-willed rival of an hour or so before.
“If you insist we’ll go on,” said Hayson; “but I’ll have to have your torch. I can’t lead without a light.”
Garve handed his torch over. “Don’t drop it, that’s all. I can’t think of anything I’d like to do less than recross this ledge in the dark.”
Presently the tunnel turned sharply to the right, away from the precipice. Instead of descending steadily, it became a series of sharp drops, the greatest of which was more than eight feet deep, and required a good deal of care in negotiation. Another few minutes and a passage opened out into a second spacious cavern. Garve stood upright and drew a breath of relief. “The central chamber,” said Hayson. “We’re now in the heart of the quarry. Over to the right there is the great hole in the roof which leads up to the cavern in the top level. On the left is the second precipice I spoke of. To the right of that again is a tunnel leading into a smaller chamber, which I’ve always wanted to explore and have never yet had time for, and from there down to the third level which you discovered yourself.”
“It’s a hell of a place,” said Garve sombrely. “I wonder if I could find my own way out—supposing you were taken ill.”
“You’d do better to shoot yourself,” said Hayson. “It’s an easier death, I should say, than slow starvation or falling from a height.”
“Depends if you shoot straight,” said Garve. “I’ve known men to shoot themselves and live in agony for hours afterwards. By the way, we haven’t seen any trace of my hypothetical ammunition dump yet.”
“Not a sign. If the Arabs had wanted a really safe place they couldn’t have found a better spot than somewhere in this chamber, but I’ve been round it pretty thoroughly.”
“What about your hieroglyphics? I’m very intrigued by them, you know.”
“We’ll come to them,” Hayson assured him. “Follow me.”
