"No," said Terry, patiently, "not Mose."
"Then who?"
"That—remains to be seen. I will follow him up and find out where he comes from."
Terry held his candle close to the ground and followed along the path. At the entrance to the little gallery of the broken column it diverged, one part leading into the gallery, and the other into a sort of blind alley at one side. Terry paused at the opening.
"Give me some more calcium light," he called to the guide. "I want to look into this passage. And just hand me some of those boards," he added. "It's very necessary that we keep the marks clear."
The rest of us stood in a huddled group on the one or two boards he had left us and watched him curiously as he made his way down the passage. He paused at the end and examined the ground. We saw him stoop and pick up something. Then he rose quickly with a cry of triumph and came running back to us holding his hands behind him.
"It's just as I suspected," he said, his eyes shining with excitement. "Colonel Gaylord had an enemy he did not know."
"What do you mean?" we asked, crowding around.
"Here's the proof," and he held out towards us a well gnawed ham bone in one hand and a cheese rind in the other. "These were the provisions intended for the church social; the pies, I fancy, have disappeared."
We stared at him a moment in silent wonder. The sheriff was the first to assert himself.