"Well, I'm going to take a look, myself," he said. "Wait here for me, and be as patient as you can."
I saw him go cautiously forward toward the ventilator, and stoop down before it. He remained there motionless for some moments, then disappeared around a corner of the house. I sat there waiting for him, thinking not without some chagrin, that, as usual, he had pumped me dry, and given nothing in return. It was really unfair of Godfrey to expect every one to play into his hands. And yet, I reflected, if he hadn't wanted to be friendly, he would scarcely have taken the trouble to send me that message.
I looked up to see his tall figure coming toward me through the darkness. He dropped beside me, and sat for a moment silent—only, as I caught a glimpse of his face, I was startled to see how white it was.
"I couldn't see a thing," he said, at last, "except a shadow moving up and down, as you said. And I heard the sounds. The woman is working at something in the cellar—something that requires time—something which must be done secretly. I couldn't make anything out of the shadows, and not much out of the sounds—at least, I fear it's only my imagination which gave them the significance they had for me."
"What significance did they have?" I asked.
"I'm half afraid to tell you, Lester; you'll laugh at me. But as I bent outside that ventilator yonder with my ear against it, I could have sworn that the person inside was engaged in shovelling earth—shovelling it into—a grave!"
A little shudder ran through me at the words; never was laughter farther from my thoughts.
"A grave!" I stammered. "But whose grave?"
"I don't know—Marcia Lawrence's, perhaps."
"Marcia Lawrence sailed on the Umbria."