The shadows before him lengthened, as the chamber gave greater play to the range of light.

Fairchild rushed within, held high his carbide and looked about him.

But no crumpled form of a man lay there, no bruised, torn human being.

The place was empty, except for the pile of stone and refuse which had been torn away by dynamite explosions in the hanging wall, where Harry evidently had shot away the remaining refuse in a last effort to see what lay in that direction,--stones and muck which told nothing.

On the other side-- Fairchild stared blankly.