In Caverns Below by Stanton A. Coblentz — Read

I can scarcely recall where I wandered in my haste; I only know that I followed long twining aisles in a half-darkness, beset by the vision of a man with slit eyes and twisted nose. I must have traveled half a mile before at length I turned to glance behind me, confident of having thrown off my pursuer. But how cruelly I was surprised! About a hundred yards down the gallery, advancing toward me at no uncertain pace, strode a chalk-face whom I thought I recognized by his slit eyes. Owing to the distance, I may have been mistaken; but, in any case, I thought it wiser to flee than to investigate, and put on my best sprinting gait as I slipped around a bend in the corridor and off along a narrow, down-curving passageway.

Less than a minute later, I passed another turn in the gallery, and came out, to my surprise, among a crowd of natives in a wide grotto dominated by a sign in glowing crystalline letters: "Phonoscope Theatre: Admission, One Silver Finger."