"There's fire inside," he said.
In a moment they all saw it, a single, pin-point glow, far back in the blackness, a Cyclopean eye, that swayed as it approached. Alternately it waned and brightened. Suddenly it illuminated the dim lineaments of a face. The face neared them. It joined itself to reality by a very solid pair of shoulders, and a man sauntered into the twilit mouth of the cavern, removed a cigarette from his lips, and gave them greeting.
"Sorry not to have met you at the door," he said, courteously. "It was you that knocked, was it not? Yes? It roused me from my siesta."
They stared at him in silence. He blinked in the light, with unaccustomed eyes.
"You will pardon me for not asking you in at once. Past circumstances have rendered me—well—perhaps suspicious is not too strong a word."
They noticed that he held a revolver in his hand.
Captain Parkinson came forward a step. The host half raised his weapon. Then he dropped it abruptly.
"Navy men!" he said, in an altered voice. "I beg your pardon. I could not see at first. My name is Percy Darrow."
"I am Captain Parkinson of the United States cruiser Wolverine," said the commander. "This is Mr. Barnett, Mr. Darrow. Dr. Trendon, Mr. Darrow."
They shook hands all around.
"Like some damned silly afternoon tea," Trendon said later, in retailing it to the mess. A pause followed.
