At last one of the men, more nervously eager for information than the
rest, shouted down the cellarway to the lieutenant, inquiring how he
and his helpers were getting on. There was no answer.
He shouted again. Still no reply. Then he announced his intention to
descend into the cellar to investigate.
"Wait," said Mr. Stanlock. "There are some tracks in the dust on the
steps, and Lieut. Larkin doesn't want them disturbed. Let me go."
Although his apprehensions had not diminished, the mine owner's nerve
was considerably strengthened by this time, perhaps as a result of his
return from a stuffy basement atmosphere into a region of better
ventilation. As he started down the steps with the flashlight of one
of the policemen in his hand, he was surprised to feel a strong
current of wind blowing upward into his face.
"They must have opened one of the windows," he surmised; but he
quickly dismissed the suggestion after flashing his light around the
cellar. The pile of lumber had been moved to the opposite side and in
the section of the floor it had formerly occupied was a hole three
feet in diameter.
"That's where the wind comes from," Mr.
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