by Sarban
‘True,’ said De l’Aubespine.
‘It seemed to me,’ Duncan went on, recalling the words of the reports his friend had shown him some months before. ‘It seemed to me then that the others in the party had done all that men could to find them. They only gave up when their own water was running out. They wouldn’t have been justified in risking the lives of their wives and the children when so little hope of finding the girls alive remained.’
‘True, true,’ De l’Aubespine murmured, ‘And all the time there was water. Plenty of water, if they had but known it, only ten kilometres or so from where the jeep stuck. In a labyrinth of caves at the foot of the cliff as you go down into the depression. The nomads know of it. Charvel had heard of it. Do you notice, he seems to assume that the girls must have known there was a spring somewhere down there. Though how could they? Well, the theory must now fit the evidence. Charvel has found their clothes in a cavern there, not far from the spring. What can we do but imagine something like this: they must have fled, seeking shelter from the storm, stumbled on this gully that he marks on his sketch-map, and then, perhaps recovering their spirits when they find they are out of reach of the blowing sand, they think ah! this is a fine adventure, let’s go off and explore these exciting caves. Then, wonder of wonders! They discover a cool spring in the depths of a cavern. It is a burning day: they have been in the furnace of a sandstorm; here is a pool of clear water in an utterly private place. Naturally they bathe. It is so delightful to have the air play on one’s wet skin. We will not put on our clothes again just yet: we will explore further this shadowy cave. Well, Charvel reports that the floors of these caverns are cleft with very deep fissures. Says rather casually that he saved himself just in time from falling into one. We might, you see, have had no second report. We know also from the Bedouin that anyone penetrating into those caves never comes out alive. I think we have the explanation there. No, it is not far-fetched. It happened to two little boys not far from my home in France, in the Pyrenees, long ago.’
Duncan sighed.
‘Yes. I suppose that must be the truth. Well, I will write to their fathers. They had promised to write to me if they had reached the Niger. A letter from someone who knows that country may help. It may carry some conviction. It is not good that there should remain any doubt, any torturing suppositions. . . .’
De l’Aubespine nodded. He turned again and looked thoughtfully at the blank, olive-green area on his map that marked the Jauf, the bed of the ancient lake.
‘We must,’ he murmured. ‘We must judge by appearances. And we must interpret appearances in a way that reason will accept. Even though it may be but one of many possible interpretations. Let us call ours reality, the rest mirage.’
Table of Contents
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CONTENTS
The Sea-Things
Number Fourteen
The Sacrifice
The King of the Lake