The tomb, already known to the Greek, the slow carving of the inscription at dead of night by Llwellyn, the new coating of hamra sealing up the inner chamber.
And yet, so skilfully had the forgeries been committed, chance had so aided the forgers, and their secret had been so well preserved that the whole world of experts was deceived.
In the overpowering relief of the confession Spence was but little interested in the details, but at length they were duly set down and signed by the Greek in the presence of the officer.
By midnight the journalist was far away on the road to Jerusalem.
[CHAPTER VII]
THE LAST MEETING
In Sir Robert Llwellyn's flat in Bond Street the electric bell suddenly rang, a shrill tinkle in the silence.
Schuabe, who sat by the window, looked up with a strained, white face.