“Let’s go over the place,” suggested Scanlon. “Whoever it was must be still here. Get some more light, sergeant.”
In a few minutes Kretz had a brace of stable lanterns; and with these throwing their rays about, and revolvers held ready, the four men made their way slowly through the cellars. There was no rubbish, nor lumber; everything was open to the lamp-light. And no one was to be found.
“Hello!” said Scanlon, amazed at this. “Here’s a state of affairs. A while ago I wondered how they got in; now I wonder how they got out.”
Ashton-Kirk had gone over the place keenly; nothing, even the smallest, seemed to escape him. Two small openings, heavily barred, allowed the daylight to drift in, and with his eyes on these, he asked:
“Are these the only means of ventilation?”
“Yes,” answered Kretz.
The crime specialist tested the bars; as he wiped his fingers upon a handkerchief, he asked: “How many ways are there of entering the vaults—from inside?”
“One,” replied Kretz. “The way we came down.”
“This sort of thing happened once before,” said young Campe. His manner was quiet, but his voice was cold with dread. “The only difference was that it was in the night, and——”
The grim-faced Kretz, looking more granite-faced than ever in the flickering light of the lanterns, growled something in a low tone; and the young man stopped instantly.