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“Isn’t it marvelous, Holmes!” I could hardly contain my exhilaration.

The passionless machine-like concentration had returned to his pale, gaunt face.

“I would suggest that those high limestone cliffs may be rather more imperative to the core of our quest, old fellow. I distinctly observed at least one cave located near the top that might have served as an excellent long-term refuge.”

Professor Challenger focused her field-glasses once again, then lowered them with a quick nod and a beaming smile.

“Excellent, Mr. Holmes!” she agreed, looking quite lovely. “You are truly the first of detectives. Forgive me, in my excitement, I didn’t notice those formations. Pterodactyls have been my favorites since I was a girl and seeing them alive is quite a thrill. Brace yourselves, gentlemen — we’re going to land!”

Our landing was, if anything, even more dreadful than our daredevil launch. I’ve never had such a helpless sensation of vertigo. Densely dark jungle cloaked most of the Plateau’s terrible denizens from our eyes, and perhaps that was for the best, but the hissing howls, blood-freezing screams, and thunderous footfalls could not be shut out.

At one point in our descent the balloon’s carriage, which contained all our provisions, and us, slightly scraped the slime-skimmed surface of a prehistoric lake filled with such brethren of Hell as only Dante might have imagined. At first what I took to be gigantic swimming crocodiles were, in reality, undulating thirty-foot long marine monitor lizards. One of the beasts was lethally ensnared in the strangling tentacles of a massive snail-shelled octopus, the likes of which — according to the Professor — hadn’t been seen upon this earth for over sixty-five million years. Swooping kite-tailed pterodactyls soared upwards again with fanged beaks full of lobe-finned silver-scaled fish, while magnificent long-necked reptiles with the acrobatic streamlined bodies of sea lions gracefully rolled and sailed through the emerald, algae rich, waves.

We touched the earth, finally, near the base of Holmes’ limestone cliff as there was no safe landing area upon its peak. Professor Challenger rapidly set about the task of deflating our balloon and sealing it, along with the cleverly designed collapsible carriage, inside a crate which she buried under a mammoth fern fully one hundred feet tall. At her orders, Lord Roxton, Holmes, and I stood guard with our rifles. She didn’t need to tell us. We were taking no chances.

The Professor and Lord Roxton then commenced hurling grappling hooks, with stout lengths of rope attached, at the narrow cave entrance. I was amazed how swiftly and expertly that was accomplished. The cave above and beyond beckoned to be investigated.

“My father may be up there. Blood and brains before brawn, Roxton,” Professor Challenger insisted after it was suggested there might be an element of danger within the cave itself.

She clambered up the cliff, in her high laced boots and riding britches, as effortlessly as a spider monkey. Before Lord Roxton could follow, Holmes surprised me by grasping the other rope.

“I’m afraid your old shoulder wound will be a nuisance here, Watson,” he said ruefully. “However, I will trouble you for your service revolver. Take care of him, Lord Roxton. I’m lost without my Boswell.”

With my pistol tucked into his belt, Holmes bounded up the line as fluidly deft as any man in his early sixties could ever hope to be. It was difficult to believe, at times like these, that he was only two years younger than me. When the scent of the chase was upon him, my friend could evoke an almost Herculean prowess as I’d witnessed, and chronicled, many times in our long association.

Lord Roxton let out a low whistle as he watched Holmes climb up and disappear into the cave. He grinned at me and revealed a silver hipflask.

“Is he a bloodhound or a squirrel — what? Care for a nip of whisky while we’re waitin’, Doctor?”

I confess to taking a few sips.

“After narrowly escaping