It seemed to me then that he snatched at the chance of finding something to do to take his attention off his trouble, for when I asked him if I should get a bricklayer to come in, he turned upon me like a lion. “Burdon,” he said, “we’ll get this job done, and then I shall have to make arrangements for you to go into an imbecile ward.”
“Very good, Sir John,” I said patiently.
“Very good!” he cried, laughing now. “There; be off, and get together what tools you have, and as soon as the servants have gone to bed, we’ll go and open the old cellar ourselves.”
Story 2—Chapter VIII.
The Signet Ring.
It was exactly twelve o’clock by the chiming timepiece in the hall. Just the hour for such a task, I felt with a sort of shiver, as Sir John came down to the pantry, where I had candles ready, and a small crowbar used for opening packing-cases, and a screw-driver.
“Everybody seems quiet up-stairs, Burdon,” says Sir John, “so let’s get to work at once.—But, hillo! just put out a lamp?”
“No, Sir John,” I said. “I often smell that now; but I’ve never been able to make out what it is.”