"Why, certainly it must come from the vaults."
"But," said the overseer, "the parish books show that there has not been any one buried in any of the vaults directly beneath the church for thirty years."
"Then," said the beadle, "it's a very wrong thing of respectable parishioners—for, of course, them as has waults is respectable—to keep quiet for thirty years and then begin stinking like blazes. It's uncommon wrong—conwulsions!"
Sir Richard Blunt took a paper from his pocket and unfolded it.
"From this plan," he said, "that I have procured of the vaults of St. Dunstan's, it appears that the stone we have raised, and which was numbered thirty, discloses a stone staircase communicating with two passages, from which all the vaults can be reached. I propose searching them; and now, gentlemen, and you, Mr. Beadle, listen to me."
They all three looked at him with surprise as he took another letter from his pocket.
"Here," he said, "are a few words from the Secretary of State. Pray read them, Mr. Vickley."
The overseer read as follows—
"The Secretary of State presents his compliments to Sir Richard Blunt, and begs to say that as regards the affair at St. Dunstan's, Sir Richard is to consider himself armed with any extraordinary powers he may consider necessary."
"Now, gentlemen," added Sir Richard Blunt, "if you will descend with me into the vaults, all I require of you is the most profound secrecy with regard to what you may see there. Do you fully understand?"