Hugh slipped the penciled translation in his pocket, swiftly rewrapped the Black Letter original and stowed it in the ebony chest, and refastened the iron box, which he returned to its former place on the mailed breast of his dead ancestor.
"That's Watkins," he said. "Something has happened up above. Come on, you chaps."
In the doorway he paused by the body of Toutou's gangster.
"What about this?" he demanded. "I won't have him left in there—with those."
He gestured toward the silent forms that filled the sepulcher.
"No need to," returned Nikka curtly, emptying the lime-sack as he spoke. "Leave him here."
We trotted on, and when we passed the first turn in the passage, just beyond the wreck of the ancient door, we saw a light that bobbed up and down in the near distance.
"Your ludship!" wailed Watkins's voice through the booming echoes.
"Steady on, Watty," Hugh called back. "I'm here."
"Thank God! Oh, your ludship, I'm that—"