My face was damp with perspiration, as Godfrey seized my hand and pulled me forward, shooting a ray of light before us, round the wall into the recess where Miss Kingdon had been labouring—only to pause, shudderingly, at the brink of a—grave?
It was impossible to tell. Certainly it was a hole which roughly resembled a grave, though its outlines were jagged and irregular. It was filled with loose earth to within about a foot of the level of the cellar floor. A pile of dirt was banked in one corner, and upon it lay a pick and shovel.
"Here," whispered Godfrey, and thrust the torch into my hands. "Keep your finger on this button. I'm going to find out what's buried here."
My hand was shaking so that I could scarcely hold the torch. I saw him seize the shovel and step down into the hole. Then with a little shake of his head, he laid it carefully down again, and, stooping, began scooping the loose dirt from one end of the hole with his hands. I scarcely breathed as I watched him. What was buried here? What dreadful thing was about to be revealed?
"Steady, Lester!" whispered Godfrey, and bent again to his task.
But it was foolish to suppose this a grave! It might have been dug for any of a dozen purposes—perhaps the cellar needed draining—perhaps the pipes were out of order—perhaps—but if it had been dug for an innocent purpose why had Miss Kingdon chosen the middle of the night for the work?
Godfrey stopped with a sudden exclamation, and dropped upon his knees. He laboured for a moment with feverish energy.
"Now, Lester, here!" he said.
I bent down and shot a ray of light into the little hole which he had made. Then, in sheer terror, I nearly dropped the torch, for, half hidden by the clinging earth, lay a shoe—a shoe that was not empty!