The old man gave the end of the coffin a rap with his knuckles.
“Empty,” he whispered, grinning; and he tapped it again, so that it emitted a hollow sound.
“Empty?”
“Ay; empty now, doctor. An old Squire Candlish lay in there two hundred years ago a’most; now a new Squire Candlish can lie in it, eh?”
“Conceal the body there?” said North, who looked dazed.
“Tchah! Only put him in there to sleep: that’s all, doctor; and nobody but us’ll know.”
“Quick, then,” said North; “I’m a good deal hurt, man, and my head feels confused.”
“Ay, to be sure, doctor, I’ll be quick, and then you can go home and put yourself to rights, and go on again here just as before. Take hold.”
North obeyed in a dreamy way, apparently not knowing what he did; and as Moredock dragged out the old coffin, with its tattered velvet and tarnished ornamentations, he took the handle at the far end, and it was lifted down into the sawdust.
The old man took the screw-driver from where it lay on the new coffin, where Sir Luke should have reposed, and rapidly turned the screws, leaving each standing up in its hole, and then lifted off the lid, to disclose some yellow lining and faded flowers, turning rapidly to so much dust—nothing more.