Потерянный континент: история Атлантиды
1. My Recall
Ofinscriptionsormarkingsonthewallstherewasnotatrace,thoughIlookedcarefully,andexceptforbatstheplacewasentirelybare.Ilitacigaretteandsmokeditthrough—Coppingeralwaysthinksoneisslurringoverworkifitisgotthroughtooquickly—andthenIwenttotheentrancewheretheropewas,andleanedout,andshouteddownmynews.
Heturnedupaveryanxiousface.“Haveyousearcheditthoroughly?”hebawledback.
“OfcourseIhave.WhatdoyouthinkI’vebeendoingallthistime?”
“No,don’tcomedownyet.Waitaminute.Isay,oldman,dowaitaminute.I’mmakingfastthekodakandtheflashlightapparatusontheendoftherope.Pullthemup,andjustmakemehalfadozenexposures,there’sagoodfellow.”
“Oh,allright,”Isaid,andhauledthethingsup,andgottheminside.Thephotographswouldbeabsolutelydullanduninteresting,butthatwouldn’tmattertoCoppinger.Heratherpreferredthemthatway.Onehastobecarefulabouthalationinphotographingthesedarkinteriors,buttherewasasortofledgelikeaseatbythesideofeachdoorway,andsoIlodgedthecameraonthattogetasteadystand,andsnappedofftheflashlightfrombehindandabove.
Igotpicturesoffourofthechambersthisway,andthencametoonewheretheledgewashigherandwider.Iputdownthecamera,wedgeditlevelwithscrapsofstone,andthensatdownmyselftorechargetheflashlightmachine.Butthemomentmyweightgotonthatledge,therewasasharpcrackle,anddownIwenthalfadozeninches.
