The passage was without doubt made by human endeavours just as Headlock had predicted. The tunnel was the height of a tall man and the width of an overweight one. Other than Grace’s skirts occasionally rubbing against the rock walls, the two made good ground. The passage itself had been cleared of all debris and would have given the corridors of a stately home a good run for their money in the cleanliness stakes.
Grace said nothing as they progressed, allowing Headlock to concentrate on the job in hand. That is why when he disrobed of one of his own fur coats and held it in front of her skirts it came as very little surprise.
“Do you see it, Grace?”
“I do,” said she, peering into the distance. But it was not one of obsidian doom. No, the passage was emitting an intense but minuscule lig
