e called--have of late been robbing the graves of the dead
and selling the bodies to the medical schools for the use of students.
The good people of Donegore have built in their churchyard a very strong
vault with an iron door, of which Aeneas Moylin keeps the key. Here
they lock up the bodies of their dead for some time before burying
them--until, in fact, the natural process of decay renders them
unsuitable for dissection. This is their plan for defeating the
resurrectioners. There is no corpse in the vault to-night. We shall
adjourn to it for our meeting. The walls are so thick, I am told, that
remarks made even in a loud tone inside will be perfectly inaudible to
eavesdroppers. The door is very small, and we can hang a cloak over it,
so that our light will not be visible. It will be quite safe, I think;
besides, it will be very comforting to think that if one of us should
die suddenly his body will not become a prey to the ghoulish people of
whom we have been speaking."

He paused. Then, changing his tone, gave a series of orders sharply--

"Bind his hands; gag him; bring a lantern and means of lighting it;
bring the key of the vault; leave the light burning in this room. Come."

The orders were quickly obeyed. It was evident that every man had his
part assigned to him beforehand, and was ready to perform it. There was
no confusion, and no talking.

Aeneas Moylin led the way. Two others followed, holding Finlay, gagged
and bound, by the arms. Donald Ward, his sword drawn, brought up the
rear. They moved like shadows, silent as the prowling body-snatchers
of whom Donald had spoken. In front of them, a dark mass in the June
twilight, stood the church, and round it rows and rows of gravestones.
Moylin crossed the stile. Finlay sank helplessly in a heap in front of
it. He could not, or would not, put his feet on the stone steps. Without
a word his two guards lifted him over and set him down among the graves.
Donald crossed last. Moylin, skirting the north side and east end of the
church, led the way to a corner of the cemetery where as yet there were
no graves. Here, barely visible among the tangle of brambles, nettles,
and high grass which surrounded it, was the vault. Kneeling down, Moylin
fumbled with the lock, turned the key with a harsh, grating sound, and
swung open the iron door. It was so low that he had to crawl through.
Once inside, he lit the lantern which he carried, and set it on a
projecting ledge of th