within hours when I drive them; machines that have never given the slightest trouble blow a fuse as soon as I approach. In this case, I had no consciousness of having done anything wrong, but I felt guilty all the same.
Reich unscrewed a plate and looked inside. He said there was nothing obviously wrong, and that he would have to test all the circuits after lunch. When I apologized, he slapped me on the shoulder.
‘Never mind. We’ve found something anyway. Now all we’ve got to discover is how deep it lies.’
We ate a good cold lunch. Then Reich rushed off to his machine. I took an air mattress, and went and lay down in the shadow of the lion gate, to make up for lost sleep. And I slept deeply and peacefully for two hours.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Reich standing beside me, staring out across the river. I looked at my watch, and sat up hastily.
‘Why on earth didn’t you wake me?’
He sat down on the ground beside me. His manner struck me as subdued.
‘What is it? Can’t you trace the fault?’
He looked at me thoughtfully.
‘There is no fault.’
I failed to understand.
‘You mean it’s repaired?’
‘No. There never was any fault.’
‘Well, that’s cheering. What went wrong then?’
‘That’s what bothers me. Nothing went wrong.’
‘No? In that case, you know how deep this thing is?’
‘Yes. It’s as deep as the gauge showed. Two miles.’
I restrained my excitement; stranger things had happened.
‘Two miles,’ I said. ‘But that’s quite a distance below the foundations of this hill. I mean… that kind of depth ought to take us down to archaeozoic rocks.’
‘That depends. But I’m inclined to agree with you.’
‘Besides, if it’s accurate about the depth, it’s presumably accurate about the size of the blocks—seventy feet high. That sounds a trifle unlikely. Even the building blocks of the great pyramid aren’t that size.’
Reich said good-humouredly: ‘My dear Austin, I agree with you completely. The thing is impossible. But I have checked every circuit in the machine. I don’t see how I could be mistaken.’
‘There’s only one way to find out—send a mole down.’
‘Which is what I was about to suggest. However, if it’s really two miles down, the mole is of no use.’
‘Why?’
‘To begin with, because it was never intended to cut through rock—only through earth or clay. It’s bound to en-counter rock at that depth. Second, because even if there’s no rock at that depth, the pressure of the earth would destroy the mole—it would be like being two miles under the sea. The pressure would be thousands of pounds to the square inch. And since the temperature rises by a hundred degrees to a mile, it could also be too hot for its electrical equipment.
The sheer size of the problem now struck me. If Reich was correct, we could never hope to unearth the ‘objects’ down there—objects that were obviously part of a wall of a city, or of a temple. With all our modern engineering efficiency, we had no machines capable of working at that temperature and pressure, and raising enormous blocks for two miles.
Reich and I returned to the probe, discussing this problem. If the probe was correct—and Reich seemed to think it was—then it set archaeology an extraordinary problem. How on earth could remains sink to this depth? Perhaps the whole tract of land had subsided in some eruption—collapsed into an abyss underneath? Then perhaps the hollow had been filled with water and mud… But mud to a depth of two miles! How many thousands of years would that take? We both felt as if we were going insane. It was a temptation to rush to the telephone and consult colleagues, but the fear of having made some absurd mistake held us back.
By five o’clock, we had the mole ready to launch, its nose pointing straight downwards. Reich operated the remote control panel, and its bullet-like nose began to revolve. Earth sprayed, then settled into a small, loose pile. For a few moments, the pile quivered. Then there was no sign of the mole.
I went across to the radar screen. At its top, a brilliant white dot seemed to tremble. As we watched, it moved down slowly—very slowly, slower than the minute hand of a watch. Next to the radar screen, a kind of television screen showed only wavy lines that looked as if they were made of smoke. Occasionally, these lines became thinner in places, or vanished altogether; this was when the mole encountered a rock. If it encountered any object that was more than ten feet across, it would stop automatically, and the electronic laser would scan its surface.
An hour later, the white dot had moved halfway down the screen—a depth of about a mile. It was now moving slower. Reich went to the probe, and set it going. Its screen registered the mole—at a mile down. And still in the same position, further down the screen showed the enormous blocks. The probe was accurate.
Now we all felt the tension. The workmen were standing in a group, their eyes fixed on the radar screen. Reich had switched off the probe, since its beam could damage the mole. We were risking damaging an expensive piece of equipment—yet we could see no alternative. We had checked and rechecked the probe. It indicated unmistakably that the immense blocks were of a more or less regular shape, and were resting side by side. It was impossible that they could be natural rocks.
Neither was it inevitable that we should lose the mole. Its electronically fortified metal would withstand a temperature of two thousand degrees; its makers had assumed that it might encounter veins of volcanic lava. The strength of its shell was enormous; the makers guaranteed that it could stand a pressure of two and a half tons to the square inch. But if it reached the blocks at a depth of two miles, it would be supporting about twice that weight, or very nearly. Besides, its transmitting equipment might not stand the temperature. And then there was always the possibility that it might pass beyond the range of the remote control, or sustain damage to its receiver.
By half past eight, night was falling, and the mole had traversed another half of the distance. The blocks were only half a mile below it. We had told the workmen to go home, but many of them stayed. Our cook prepared us a meal from tins; he was obviously in no condition to cook anything elaborate. When the night came down, we sat there in the dark, listening to the faint hum of the radar equipment, and watching the brilliant white dot. Sometimes, I became convinced that it had stopped. Reich, whose eyes were better than mine, assured me that it hadn’t.
By half past ten, the last of the workmen had gone home. I had wrapped myself up in a dozen blankets, for the wind had risen. Reich chain-smoked; even I smoked two cigarettes. Suddenly, the humming stopped. Reich leapt to his feet. He said: ‘It’s there.’
‘Are you sure?’ I found that my voice had become a croak.
‘Absolutely. The position’s right. It’s now directly over the blocks.’
‘What now?’
‘Now we activate the scanner.’
He started the machine again. Now our eyes were fixed on the television screen. It was blank, indicating that the scanner was trained on a massive and hard object. Reich adjusted the controls. The wavy lines began to reappear, but they were now thinner and straighter. Reich made some adjustment that brought them closer together, until the whole surface of the screen became a pattern of fine white and black lines, like a pair of pinstriped trousers. And showing very clearly against this pattern of lines there were a number of black scars, indentations in the rock. The excitement of the past few hours had been so great that I was able to look at these without strong emotion. It was impossible to doubt what they were. I had seen them many times before—on the basalt figurines. I was looking at the symbols that represented the name of Abhoth the Dark.
There