He took up the topmost sheet. It was a thin, semi-transparent paper, and crackled to the touch.
"This isn't newspaper," he said.
"Cigarette paper, perhaps," said Armstrong. "But where's the 'baccy?"
"Can't smell any. I wonder how much farther the tunnel goes?"
Entering it at the extreme end of the chamber, Warrender came within a yard to a contrivance similar to that which gave access from the cellar.
"Here's the end," he said. "Look, the grips are turned. Shall we risk lifting the stone?"
"Dangerous," said Armstrong. "Goodness knows where we'd find ourselves."
Scarcely had he spoken when from above came the dull sound of footsteps. Switching off the light, Warrender backed into the chamber and hastily crossed it with Armstrong, both moving on tiptoe. They re-entered the tunnel, crept along for a few yards, then halted, listening breathlessly. They heard the footsteps of one man in the chamber they had just left. The footsteps ceased, and were followed by a rustling. It seemed clear that their presence was unsuspected, and they ventured to tiptoe back until, near the opening of the tunnel, they were able to peep into the chamber. By the dim light that came through the aperture left open by the revolved flagstone on the farther side, they saw a short, stout man drawing sheets of paper from the opened package. He counted them as he took them up, and presently turned, carried them through the opening, and let down the flagstone behind him. There was not light enough by which to identify him.
"THEY SAW A SHORT, STOUT MAN DRAWING SHEETS OF PAPER FROM THE OPENED PACKAGE."