place of
which some memory yet remained even from the days when OElla's men
took the town from the iron workers five hundred years and more
ago, when the might of Rome had passed.

"There is somewhat that I have found in this place," I said. "Come
and see what it is."

Wondering, Olaf and Wulfnoth climbed down the ladder after me, and
Relf did but stay to find a torch before he followed us. Then I
showed them the stone and the hollow behind it, and the earl called
for the crowbar that was left by the outlaws, and with a stroke or
two easily broke out the rest of the stone, and the glare of the
torch shone into the place that it had so long sealed.

It was a chamber in the wall, and maybe a yard square each way. The
stone had not filled all its width or depth of mouth, but was, as
it were, a sealed door to be broken and replaced by another. Then
we could see that the canvas I had thought that I had felt was
indeed the loose folds of the tied mouths of bags that were neatly
arranged at the bottom of this stone-built chest. And the canvas
that I had reached and pulled at had easily parted, and through the
rent showed the dull gleam of gold coin as the torchlight flared
upon it.

The light shone too on letters scratched on the soft stone of the
back of the chamber. I could read them, but Wulfnoth pointed to
them, saying:

"Here may be a curse written on him who touches. I will have our
priest read that which is there if he can."

Then I laughed, and said that it was no curse, but the name of some
Roman who made the place, for all that was there was:

CLAVD. MARTINVS. ARTIF. FEC.

"Which means that a workman named Martin was proud of his work, and
left his name there," I said when I had read it.

"And was slain, doubtless, lest he should betray the secret," said
Wulfnoth.

And he put his hand out to take one of the bags from the place,
feeling round the rotten canvas to get a fair grip of the mass of
coin.

Then he drew back his hand with a cry that came strangely from his
stern lips, for it sounded like alarm, and he stepped back.

"As I live," he said, "somewhat cold moved beneath my fingers in
there."

Even as he spoke something crawled slowly on to the bag that was
broken and sat on the red gold that was hidden no longer. There it
stayed, staring at the torchlight--a great wizened toad, whose eyes
were like the gold which it seemed to guard. And we stared at it,
for not one of us dared touch it, nor c