Some one was working close beside him, working so silently that Bruce could hardly hear the labor.
Some one was shoveling dirt back into the hole from which he had emerged.
All trace of time passed from Bruce Duncan's mind. His brain responded only to the soft sound of dirt, dropping downward. Then came a patting noise — the smoothing of the surface where the hole had been.
From that moment on, all seemed a dream. Bruce knew that he was outside the mausoleum; that he was moving forward through the rain and wind, sometimes being carried, sometimes walking. Some one was beside him, directing the way. But Bruce Duncan's eyelids were heavy; he could not open them. At last all seemed blank. A great faintness came over him.
Then came a sensation of warmth and dryness. He opened his eyes and stared with surprise at his surroundings. He was seated in a chair, in the downstairs room of the cottage. He was wrapped in a blanket. His outer garments were hanging over the wire screen before a blazing fire.
Bruce felt weak and tired. He rose wearily and went to the window. Raising the shade, he saw that the first touches of dawn were appearing in the sky.
Bruce picked up his shirt from the screen. It was nearly dry now — dry, but covered with caked dirt.
Gathering his garments, he went upstairs. He was in his stocking feet, and he made no noise as he passed the closed doors and reached the bed in his own room.
As sleep came upon him, Bruce Duncan's mind was filled with confused thoughts of his adventure. But one dominating impression filled his mind. The identity of his rescuer came with startling suddenness.
He had been drawn from his tomb by The Shadow!