“Yes—in his pocket. He—I could hardly look—he seemed to fall to pieces.”
“And—and it said where?”
“Yes. You’ll never believe.”
“Where?”
“In the well.”
“In the——”
“In the well. What fools we were never to think of that before! Of course it stood at the end of the crypts once—the most natural place for him to throw them into.”
His “them” seemed to hit me in the throat. I had forgotten about the murdered priest. I stood gaping like an idiot, lost in the plain marvel of the thing. I had forgotten Uncle Jenico, till his voice, speaking in a queer, shaky way, recalled me to the thought of him.
“My wrench!” he said. “They will have sunk to the bottom. We shall have to pull it down!”
“That’s just what we’re going to do,” said Harry “to-night, after every one’s asleep.”