ve way with his paddle so vigorously that the canoe was
as nearly as possible upset into the lake.

In due course we reached the flat Rock of Offerings, which proved to be
quite as wide as a double croquet lawn and much longer.

"What are those?" I asked, pointing to certain knobs on the edge of the
rock at a spot where a curved projecting point made a little harbour.

Bickley examined them, and answered:

"I should say that they are the remains of stone mooring-posts worn down
by many thousands of years of weather. Yes, look, there is the cut of
the cables upon the base of that one, and very big cables they must have
been."

We stared at one another--that is, Bickley and I did, for Bastin was
still engaged in contemplating the blackened head of the god which he
had overthrown.

Chapter IX. The Island in the Lake

We made the canoe fast and landed on the great rock, to perceive that it
was really a peninsula. That is to say, it was joined to the main land
of the lake island by a broad roadway quite fifty yards across, which
appeared to end in the mouth of the cave. On this causeway we noted
a very remarkable thing, namely, two grooves separated by an exact
distance of nine feet which ran into the mouth of the cave and vanished
there.

"Explain!" said Bickley.

"Paths," I said, "worn by countless feet walking on them for thousands
of years."

"You should cultivate the art of observation, Arbuthnot. What do you
say, Bastin?"

He stared at the grooves through his spectacles, and replied:

"I don't say anything, except that I can't see anybody to make paths
here. Indeed, the place seems quite unpopulated, and all the Orofenans
told me that they never landed on it because if they did they would die.
It is a part of their superstitious nonsense. If you have any idea in
your head you had better tell us quickly before we breakfast. I am very
hungry."

"You always are," remarked Bickley; "even when most people's appetites
might have been affected. Well, I think that this great plateau was once
a landing-place for flying machines, and that there is the air-shed or
garage."

Bastin stared at him.

"Don't you think we had better breakfast?" he said. "There are two roast
pigs in that canoe, and lots of other food, enough to last us a week,
I should say. Of course, I understand that the blood you have shed has
thrown you off your balance. I believe it has that effect, except on the
most hardened. Flying mac