Truxton King

He was wading in cold water over a slippery bottom, tightly held by two men, the third going ahead with the lantern. Always ahead loomed the black, opaque circle which never came nearer, never grew smaller. It was the ever receding wall of darkness.

He did not know how long they traversed the chill sewer in this fashion. In time, however, the water got deeper; rats began to scurry along the sides of the circle or to swim frantically on in front of the disturbers. The smells were sickening, overpowering. Only excitement, curiosity, youth--whatever you may care to term it-kept him up and going. The everlasting glory of youth never ends until old age has provided the surfeit of knowledge; the strife to see ahead, to find out what is to be, to know,--that is youth. Youth dies when curiosity ends. The emotion is even stronger than the dread of what may lie beyond in the pallid sea of uncertainty.

His bones were chilled and creaking with fatigue. He was remorselessly hungry. There was water, but he could not drink it.

At last the strange journey ended. They came to a niche in the slimy wall. Up into this the men climbed, dragging him after them. The man above was cautiously tapping on what appeared to be solid masonry. To King's surprise a section of the wall suddenly opened before them. He was seized from above by strong hands and literally jerked through the hole, his companions following. Up narrow steps, through a sour-smelling passage and--then, into a long, dimly lighted room, in the centre of which stood a long table.

He was not permitted to linger here for long, but passed on into a small room adjoining. Some one, speaking in English, told him to sit down. The gag was removed from his stiff, inflamed mouth.

"Fetch him some water," said a voice that he was sure he recognised--a high, querulous voice.

"Hello, Spantz," articulated Truxton, turning to the black-bearded, bent figure.

There was an instance of silence. Then Spantz spoke, with a soft laugh: "You will not know so much to-morrow, Herr King. Give him the water, man. He has much to say to us, and he cannot talk with a dry throat."

"Nor an empty stomach," added King. He drank long of the pitcher that was held to his lips.

"This is not the Regengetz," growled a surly voice.

"You mean, I don't eat?"

"Not at midnight, my friend."

"It seems to be an all-night joint."

"Enough," cried Spantz. "Bring him out here. The others have come."

King was pushed out into the larger room, where he was confronted by a crowd of bewhiskered men and snaky-eyed women with most intellectual nose-glasses. It required but a glance to convince him that the whiskers were false.