“But underneath,” said Capel.
“Underneath? Look for yourself,” said Mr Girtle; “where there is not solid steel there is solid iron, and beneath that, massive stone. The treasure seems to have been spirited away.”
“That’s it,” said Artis. “The old man was not satisfied, and he got up out of his coffin and hid it somewhere else.”
Capel caught Artis by the collar.
“I will not—” he began; but mastering his indignant anger he let fall his arm.
“There is nothing here,” he said; “let us look about the outside.”
That was the work of a minute, for on every hand there was the blank stone—wall, floor and roof, and the exterior of the iron safe or tomb was perfectly rectangular and smooth.
“What was the size of the cases?”
“One was about twelve inches by eight, and three or four deep, and the other rather smaller,” replied the old lawyer; “both too large for me to have juggled them into my pockets when I opened the steel chest, Mr Artis.”
“You held the keys, and if you meant to take the treasure, you had it before.”