In the entry of the Chapel Royal, near the kings’ tombs, they found what seemed to be a new grave. A loose flagstone—scatter of gravel all about—the stone not level: one end, in fact, projected its whole thickness above the floor.
‘There he lies,’ says Adam. ‘What more do you want?’
Des-Essars was tugging at the stone. ‘It moves, it moves!’ He was crimson in the face.
They both tussled together: it gave to this extent, that they got the lower edge clear of the floor.
‘Hold on! Keep it so!’ snapped Des-Essars suddenly.
He dropped on to his stomach and thrust his arm into the crack, up to the elbow.
‘What are you at? Be sharp, man, or I shall drop it!’ cried Adam in distress.
He was sharp. In a moment he had withdrawn his hand, jumped up and away, and was pelting to the stairs. Adam let the great stone down with a thud and was after him. He was stopped at the Queen’s door by a maid—Seton.
‘Less haste, Mr. Adam. You cannot enter. Her Majesty is busy.’