Caravan to Vaccares by Alistair MacLean

those caves: quite simply it was a place into which no man in his right mind would venture after the sun had gone down. He was, he hoped, in his right mind, and he didn’t want to go in. But he had to.
    He took a torch from his suitcase and said to Cecile: ‘Wait here.’
    â€˜No! You’re not going to leave me alone here.’ She sounded pretty vehement about it.
    â€˜It’ll probably be an awful lot worse inside.’
    â€˜I don’t care.’
    â€˜Suit yourself.’
    They set off together and passed through the largest of the openings to the left: if you could have put a three-storey house on wheels you could have trundled it through that opening without any trouble. Bowman traversed the walls with his torch, walls covered with the graffiti of countless generations, then opted for an archway to the right that led to an even larger cavern. Cecile, he noticed, even although wearing flat-heeled sandals, stumbled quite a bit, more than the occasional slight undulations in the limestone floor warranted: he was pretty well sure now that her vision was a good deal less than twenty-twenty which, he reflected, was maybe why she had consented to come with him in the first place.
    The next cavern held nothing of interest for Bowman. True, its vaulted heights were lost in darkness, but as only a bat could have got up there anyway that was of no moment. Another archway loomed ahead.
    â€˜This is a dreadful place,’ Cecile whispered.
    â€˜Well, I wouldn’t like to live here all the time.’
    Another few paces and she said: ‘Mr Bowman.’
    â€˜Neil.’
    â€˜May I take your arm?’ In these days he didn’t think they asked.
    â€˜Help yourself,’ he said agreeably. ‘You’re not the only person in need of reassurance round here.’
    â€˜It’s not that. I’m not scared, really. It’s just that you keep flashing that torch everywhere and I can’t see and I keep tripping.’
    â€˜Ah!’
    So she took his arm and she didn’t trip any more, just shivered violently as if she were coming down with some form of malaria. By and by she said: ‘What are you looking for?’
    â€˜You know damned well what I’m looking for.’
    â€˜Perhaps – well, they could have hidden him.’
    â€˜They could have hidden him. They couldn’t have buried him, not unless they had brought along some dynamite with them, but they could have hidden him. Under a mound of limestone rock and stones. There’s plenty around.’
    â€˜But we’ve passed by dozens of piles of limestone rocks. You didn’t bother about them.’
    â€˜When we come to a freshly made mound you’ll know the difference,’ he said matter-offactly. She shivered again, violently, and he went on: ‘Why did you have to come in, Cecile? You were telling the truth when you said you weren’t scared: you’re just plain terrified.’
    â€˜I’d rather be plain terrified in here with you than plain terrified alone out there.’ Any moment now and her teeth would start chattering.
    â€˜You may have a point there,’ he admitted. They passed, slightly uphill this time, through another archway, into another immense cavern: after a few steps Bowman stopped abruptly.
    â€˜What is it? she whispered. ‘What’s wrong?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’ He paused. ‘Yes, I do know.’ For the first time he shivered himself.
    â€˜You, too?’Again that whisper.
    â€˜Me, too. But it’s not that. Some clod-hopping character has just walked over my grave.’
    â€˜Please?’
    â€˜This is it. This is the place. When you’re old and sinful like me, you can smell it.’
    â€˜Death?’ And now her voice was shaking. ‘People can’t smell death.’
    â€˜I can.’
    He switched off the torch.
    â€˜Put it on, put it on!’ Her voice was highpitched, close to