n his knees, and
then fell sidewise across the hole in the floor. He was not there many
moments before there was a low angry whispering; he seemed to be heaved
up, and, a big workman-looking fellow came struggling up till he sat on
the sawdust with his legs in the hole, and spoke down to some one.

"It's all right," he said. "The chests are here; but the fool has
fainted away. Quick the lamp, and then the tools."

He bent down and took a smoky oil lamp that was handed to him, and I
drew a deep breath, for the sound of his voice had seemed familiar; but
the light which shone on his face made me sure in spite of his rough
clothes and the beard he had grown. It was Edward Gunning, our old
servant, who was discharged for being too fond of drink, turned
bricklayer once again.

As he took the lamp, he got up, held it above his head, looked round,
and then, with a grin of satisfaction at the sight of the chests,
stepped softly toward the opening into the outer cellar, where Sir John
and I were watching.

It didn't take many moments, and I hardly know now how it happened, but
I just saw young Mr Barclay lying helpless on the sawdust, another head
appearing at the hole, and then, with the light full upon it, Edward
Gunning's face being thrust out of the opening into the cellar where we
were, and his eyes gleaming curiously before they seemed to shut with a
snap. For, all at once--perhaps it was me being a butler and so used to
wine--my hand closed upon the neck of one of those bottles, which rose
up sudden-like above my head, and came down with a crash upon that of
this wretched man.

There was a crash; the splash of wine; the splintering of glass; the
smell of sherry--fine old sherry, yellow seal--and I stood for a moment
with the bottle neck and some sawdust in my hand, startled by the yell
the man gave, by the heavy fall, and the sudden darkness which had come
upon us.

Then--I suppose it was all like a flash--I had rushed to the inner
cellar and was dragging the slab over the hole, listening the while to a
hollow rustling noise which ended as I got the slab across and sat on it
to keep it down.

"Where are you, Burdon?" says Sir John.

"Here, sir!--Quick! A light!"

I heard him hurry off; and it seemed an hour before he came back, while
I sat listening to a terrible moaning, and smelling the spilt sherry and
the oily knocked-out lamp. Then Sir John came in, quite pale, but
looking full of fight, and the fi