"Now, Mr. Villimay," he said. "Be so good as to hold up your lantern as high as you can, at the same time not to get it above the doorway, and I will do the same by mine. All that we want is a brief but clear view."
"Yes, yes. Quite brief," said the secretary.
Sir Richard Blunt laid his hand upon the door of the vault, which was unfastened, and flung it open.
"Behold!" he said, "one of the vaults of old St. Dunstan's."
For the space of about a minute and a half no one uttered a word, so it behoves us to state what that vault contained, to strike such horror into the hearts of bold educated men. Piled one upon each other on the floor, and reaching half way up to the ceiling lay, a decomposing mass of human remains. Heaped up one upon another, heedlessly tossed into the disgusting heap any way, lay the gaunt skeletons with pieces of flesh here and there only adhering to the bones. A steam—a foetid steam rose up from the dead, and upon the floor was a pool of corruption, creeping along as the declivities warranted. Eyes, teeth, hands half denuded of flesh—glistening vermin, shiny and sleek with the luxurious feeding they there got, slipped glibly in and out of the heaped-up horror.
Todd's Victims In The Vaults Of Old St. Dunstan's Church.
"No more—no more!" cried the secretary.
"I sicken," said his friend, "I am faint."
Sir Richard Blunt let go the door, and it slammed shut with a hollow sound.