Burt Standish - Dick Merriwell's Pranks - or, Lively Times in the Orient

The passage echoed to their tread, while their voices came back hollowly, as if hidden imps were mocking them.

But the boys were quite unprepared for the spectacle that suddenly met their gaze. They came from the passage into a mighty vaulted chamber, stretching away into an unknown distance and filled with a shadowy maze of marble columns, row on row. The floor of this wonderful place was smooth as a mirror and seemed black as ebony, save where the light of the torches fell on it. There it glittered, and gleamed, and shimmered.

Exclamations of astonishment and wonder broke from the lips of the two lads. The professor grasped them, one with either hand, and stopped them abruptly.

“We can’t go farther on foot,” he said.

“Eh? Why not?” asked the Texan, in surprise. “Look at that floor! Wouldn’t it be great to dance on! It’s smooth as glass and – ”

“You would get your feet wet if you attempted to dance on that,” declared Zenas.

“What? Why – why, it’s water!”

“Exactly.”

“But – but it looks black everywhere except where the light strikes directly on it.”

“Because no other ray of light reaches this place.”

Dick stooped and dipped his hand in the water, which reached to their very feet.

“Well, this is worth seeing!” he declared.

“This was constructed by Constantine more than fifteen hundred years ago,” explained the professor. “Think, boys, what you now behold is the work of man, yet it remains practically the same as when constructed fifteen centuries ago.”

“It looks like a partly submerged cathedral,” murmured Dick. “One can fancy all its worshipers and priests as drowned in that flood of black water. In fancy I seem to see their restless spirits floating above the surface of the lake, away, away yonder in the unknown distance. How large is it, professor?”

“There are three hundred and thirty-six of those marble columns, arranged in twenty-eight rows. I fancy the real reason why Mustapha refused to enter here is because of the many legends and tales told concerning the place. It is said that these vaults often echo to hollow laughter, and that the place is haunted by the ghosts of murdered sultans of past ages, whose places were usurped by the very monsters who intrigued to bring about the murders. Some claim that the spirits of the beautiful women destroyed by jealous sultans are doomed to float forever here above the surface of this buried lake, and that occasionally one of them is seen by a visitor for a single fleeting instant, then goes wailing and sobbing into the black distance.”

“Well, by the great horn spoon, I don’t know that I blame Mustapha for not coming here!” exclaimed Brad. “It’s the most spooky old hole I ever struck.”

At this juncture Bayazid inquired if they wished to take a boat and venture out a short distance on the water.

“Certainly,” answered Dick, at once. “I think it will be a novel experience, and I want to go. If Brad does not – ”

“Hold on, pard!” cried the Texan. “Wherever you go I go, you bet your boots! Mebbe I don’t like it a heap, but I’m with you.”

Bayazid left them and moved a short distance to the right. They watched him and saw the light of his torch fall on a black boat that lay motionless at the edge of the black lake. He stepped into the boat and soon brought it to the shore at their feet.

Dick and Brad followed the professor into the boat, which was large enough to accommodate two more persons, if the party had included them.

Bayazid had placed his torch in a socket that seemed arranged for it. He suggested that the others should extinguish theirs, as too much light close at hand would blind them, instead of making it possible for them to see better.

They accepted his suggestion, and slowly the boat slipped out upon the bosom of the soundless lake.

Suddenly there was a whirring rush through the air, and something brushed past the head of the professor, who uttered a squawk of alarm, struck out wildly with both hands and fell over backward off his seat to flounder in the bottom of the boat.

“Howling tornadoes!” gasped Buckhart. “Whatever was that?”

“A bat, effendi,” answered Bayazid.

Dick laughed.

“Goodness!” palpitated the professor, as he finally struggled up to his seat. “I confess it did frighten me, boys. Made me think of those restless ghosts which are said to wander forever above the bosom of this lake. Hadn’t we better go back?”

“Which way shall we go?” asked Dick.

They looked around. On every hand they saw nothing but marble pillars, shadows, and grim darkness.

“Waugh!” muttered the Texan. “I confess I couldn’t follow the back trail.”

“But Bayazid knows the way, don’t you, Bayazid?” anxiously asked the professor.

“I know it, effendi,” was the assurance. “Trust me.”

“I – I’m very glad you do!” breathed Zenas. “I think we will return at once.”

But Dick urged that they should go on a little farther, as Bayazid was thoroughly familiar with the place and there was no danger that they would become lost.

Brad always stuck by Dick, and the two overruled the old pedagogue.

Therefore Bayazid paddled slowly on. Had they seen his face they might have become suspicious and alarmed, but the shadows hid the crafty and treacherous look his countenance wore.

Finally they paused again, amid the labyrinth of pillars. Without the guide, not one of them could have told which course to follow in order to return to the point from which they started.

Suddenly Bayazid uttered an exclamation and stood up in the boat, staring into the darkness beyond his passengers.

Involuntarily the trio turned their heads to look, wondering what it could be that the guide saw.

Barely were their heads turned in that manner when the treacherous guide snatched the torch from its socket and plunged it into the water. There was a hissing sound and instant darkness.

Dick Merriwell had brought along a revolver. He drew it in a moment and held it ready for use, expecting something to happen in the Stygian darkness of that terrible place.

Professor Gunn cried out to Bayazid, demanding to know the meaning of his act.

“Get hold of the onery varmint!” advised Buckhart. “Let me put my paws on him!”

The Texan floundered about, rocking the boat somewhat.

“Be careful, Brad!” warned Dick. “You don’t know what he will do! It may be intended for a joke, just to frighten us, and it may be intended for something else. I have a pistol. Keep away from him and let me do the business.”

“Pup-pup-perhaps it’s pup-pup-part of the regular pup-pup-programme,” chattered Professor Gunn. “Pup-pup-perhaps they always pup-pup-put out the tut-tut-torch when they have pup-pup-passengers on this old underground pup-pup-pond.”

“Be quiet,” directed Dick. “Bayazid.”

He called to the guide, but there was no answer.

“Bayazid!”

Again he called. His voice echoed hollowly in the unseen arches above their heads.

“Why doesn’t the blame fool answer?” growled Buckhart.

“Strike a match, Brad,” directed Dick. “I’m holding my revolver ready for use, and I’ll shoot, if necessary, the moment I can see what to shoot at.”

The Texan lost little time in producing a match, but when he attempted to strike it he failed, the brimstone breaking off. Three matches were used before one burned. The light flared up, Buckhart holding it above his head. Its glow fell on the old professor and the two boys, and simultaneously they made an amazing discovery.

They were alone in the boat!

Bayazid, the guide, had disappeared!