A laugh came up which sounded very clearly, for Alan was only a few feet below the surface. He looked round and round, twisting himself with his hands, and thrusting his toes into the crevices of the stones to gain foothold, and not to strain either the beech-tree’s strength or that of the girl. But the moss and the lichens grew so thickly that he could not see the surface of the stonework, and therefore could espy no triangle. And small wonder, since it was over one hundred years since the treasure had been stowed away by Inderwick’s faithful servant. “I wish I had a knife,” muttered Alan, and Marie heard him.
“Get out of the well, and I’ll fetch one,” she said fastening the rope to the tree trunk firmly; “I sha’n’t be a minute,” and she flew up the path.
“Bring a carving-knife,” Alan shouted after her, getting his head above the surface circle of stones, and Marie waved her hand to show that she heard him. But he did not get out of the well, as she advised, but braced his feet and shoulders against the masonry and continued his examination. But when she returned with the knife he was still at fault.
“Clever darling,” he said, taking the carving-knife and dropping down again. Then he went to work, while Marie called out every now and then from the beech-tree to know if he was safe. Everywhere he scraped the moss off the stones and laid bare one row after the other, but for at least one hour he failed to find what he sought. He was just thinking that it would be as well to get out and have a rest, particularly as Marie was imploring him to do so, when suddenly she heard him shout.
“Dear, have you found it?” she cried, not daring to leave the rope or the tree, lest the first might slip from the last.
“Yes! yes. Here is the red triangle marked on the fourth row of stones—on one big one, that is. Tie up the rope, Marie and give me the crowbar. I won’t need to descend further.”
The girl did as she was told, and leaning over the edge of the well, handed her lover the crowbar. Already Alan had worked away at the interstices of the marked stone with the knife point. He deepened these sufficiently to slip in the point of the crowbar, which was rather blunt, and then began to strain in his effort to loosen the block. Marie anxiously looking down, heard him breathing hard with the effort, and implored him to take a rest. But Fuller was too anxious to find the treasure to do so, and with aching arms and legs—for he was resting his weight on them with his toes in a crevice—worked away desperately. Little by little, the mortar in the interstices of the block crumbled, as he drove in the crowbar, and finally the stone became so loose that he could ease it with his fingers. Again he shouted, and this time with relief, as the big stone splashed down into the dark waters below.
“Have you got it, Alan?” cried Marie, quite sick with excitement.
“Yes, I think so.” He was feeling in the dark hole which the displaced stone had revealed; “but it doesn’t seem to be very much. Only a small box. Oh Marie, there can’t be many jewels in this.” He handed up as he spoke a tin box of no great size, which Marie received with manifest disappointment, and went on groping. However he found nothing else, so emerged from the well, with his clothes considerably damaged, and with a red perspiring face, for the task had made him quite hot.
“How can we open the thing?” asked Marie, when they sat on the edge of the well to examine the box, “It’s locked.”