gging?"'

"Something like it, anyhow," replied Dick. "Listen."

Bryce heard the ring of metal on stone. And an unpleasant conviction
stole over him that he was being forestalled, that somebody was
beforehand with him, and he cursed himself for not having done the
previous night what he had left undone till this night.

"Who are they?" he asked. "Did you see them--their faces?"

"Not their faces," answered Dick. "Only their figures in the gloom. But
I heard Mitchington's voice."

"Police, then!" said Bryce. "What on earth are they after?"

"Look here!" whispered Dick, pulling at Bryce's arm again. "Come on! I
know how to get in there without their seeing us. You follow me."

Bryce followed readily, and Dick stepping through the wicket-gate,
seized his companion's wrist and led him amongst the bushes in the
direction of the spot from whence came the metallic sounds. He walked
with the step of a cat, and Bryce took pains to follow his example.
And presently from behind a screen of cypresses they looked out on the
expanse of flagging in the midst of which stood the tomb of Richard
Jenkins.

Round about that tomb were five men whose faces were visible enough in
the light thrown by a couple of strong lamps, one of which stood on the
tomb itself, while the other was set on the ground. Four out of the five
the two watchers recognized at once. One, kneeling on the flags, and
busy with a small crowbar similar to that which Bryce carried inside his
overcoat, was the master-mason of the cathedral. Another, standing
near him, was Mitchington. A third was a clergyman--one of the lesser
dignitaries of the Chapter. A fourth--whose presence made Bryce start
for the second time that evening--was the Duke of Saxonsteade. But the
fifth was a stranger--a tall man who stood between Mitchington and
the Duke, evidently paying anxious attention to the master-mason's
proceedings. He was no Wrychester man--Bryce was convinced of that.

And a moment later he was convinced of another equally certain fact.
Whatever these five men were searching for, they had no clear or
accurate idea of its exact whereabouts. The master-mason was taking up
the small squares of flagstone with his crowbar one by one, from the
outer edge of the foot of the old box-tomb; as he removed each, he
probed the earth beneath it. And Bryce, who had instinctively realized
what was happening, and knew that somebody else than himself was in
possession of the secret of th