Behind him the noise grew fainter and fainter; he could safely leave Inspector Tomlinson to deal with the three others but something far more important remained to be done. The Monk had not been in the printingroom. Michael had a sickening fear that there was some other entrance he had failed to discover, but the first thing to do was to race for the crypt, in case the Monk had gone that way. As he ran he cursed himself for not having taken the precaution to go up the stairs past the library before he led the police down. The Monk must have been on the stairs when they came through the panel; he might have been listening to what had been said in the library, waited for them to get through the moving stone, and then gone on down to the crypt. Well, he couldn't get out through the tomb, in any case, Michael reflected.
He reached the stone, and set his shoulders to it. It was dangerous work, for the Monk might even then be lying in wait to shoot down his pursuers. He stayed for a moment, with a leg over the barrier, and his torch lighting up the stairs. He could see nothing, but below him he thought he heard a rustle. He sprang through and went on down. There was no sign of life in the low passage that led at the foot of the stairs to the crypt, and no glimmer of light shone in the crypt itself. He reached it, and his torch flashed round, searching every corner.
The crypt was empty. He sprang for the iron ladder, scrambled up, and shouted: "All right there? No one tried to get out?"
The men outside answered: "All right here, sir."
He climbed down again. There must be another way out, and like a blundering fool he had allowed the Monk to escape.
He heard Sergeant Matthews' voice echoing down the passage: "Where are you, sir? Mr. Draycott! Where are you?"
"Here!" Michael called, and in a few minutes the sergeant came hurrying into the crypt.
"Has he got away, sir? We got the others. The inspector's gorn up to be sure he hasn't forced that panel at the top of the stairs. Lord, this is bad luck, ain't it, sir?"
Michael was searching the crypt for any sign of an entrance. Suddenly he stopped, his torch-light turned full on to one of the coffins. It was the coffin they had looked into that morning. Then the lid had lain beside it. But now the lid covered it.
The light swept on. Michael said: "He's not here. We'd better get back to the library. Just a moment though: I'll make sure there's nothing behind these stairs."