"There—yes—there!"
I could not describe the impression those three words made upon us. Edgar Poe would have said that they were three cries from the depths of the under world.
It was Dirk Peters who had spoken, and his body was stretched out in the direction of the sphinx, as though it had been turned to iron and was attracted by the magnet.
Then he sped swiftly towards the sphinx-like mound, and his companions followed him over rough ground strewn with volcanic remains of all sorts.
The monster grew larger as we neared it, but lost none of its mythological shape. Alone on that vast plain it produced a sense of awe. And—but this could only have been a delusion—we seemed to be drawn towards it by the force of its magnetic attraction.
On arriving at the base of the mound, we found there the various articles on which the magnet had exerted its power; arms, utensils, the grapnel of the Paracuta, all adhering to the sides of the monster. There also were the iron relics of the Halbrane's boat, all her utensils, arms, and fittings, even to the nails and the iron portions of the rudder.
There was no possibility of regaining possession of any of these things. Even had they not adhered to the loadstone rock at too great a height to be reached, they adhered to it too closely to be detached. Hurliguerly was infuriated by the impossibility of recovering his knife, which he recognized at fifty feet above his head, and cried as he shook his clenched fist at the imperturbable monster,—
"Thief of a sphinx!"
Of course the things which had belonged to the Hal-
