"My God, gentlemen!" said Sita Ram. "That place is wet-weather
refuge for many million cobras! If I must die, I will prefer to
perish in rain, where wife and family may find me for proper funeral
rites. I will not go in there!"
But the German raised the trap-door, and Ranjoor Singh took the
unhappy babu by the scruff of his fat neck.
"In with you!" he ordered.
And, chattering as if his teeth were castanets, the babu trod
gingerly down damp stone steps whose center had been worn into ruts
by countless feet. The German came last, and let the trap slam shut.
"My God!" yelled the babu. "Let me go! I am family man!"
"_Vorwarts_!" laughed the German, leading the way toward a teak
door set in a stone wall.
They were in an ancient temple vault that seemed to have
miraculously escaped from the destruction that had overwhelmed the
whole upper part. Not a stone of it was out of place. It was wind and
water-tight, and the vaulted roof, that above was nothing better than
a mound of debris, from below looked nearly as perfect as when the
stones had first been fitted into place.
The German produced a long key, opened the teak door, and stood
aside to let them pass.
"No, no!" shuddered Sita Ram; but Ranjoor Singh pushed him through;
the German followed, and the door slammed shut as the trap had done.
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