“Where can the darned thing be?” asked one of the men, stooping down, and apparently searching for something along the grass. “Who of ye remembers the spot?”
“A little farther out, I think,” answered a voice that caused Lena Rook to start, and take hold of Pierre’s hand. “About here. Yes, here it is. I can feel the lumps upon the turf.”
The speaker appeared to be groping the ground with his feet.
“Alf Brandon!” whispered the girl, with her lips close to her companion’s ear.
The others gathered around the spot indicated by Brandon.
Two who carried spades commenced digging, while a like number of shovel-men followed, throwing out the loose earth.
“Wonder how deep the old skunk has buried him?” asked one.
“Not very deep, I reck’n. Jerry Rook’s too lazy to a dug far down. We’ll soon come to it.”
These were the voices of Bill Buck and Slaughter, the hotel-keeper, recognised by Lena Rook, though not by her companion.
“Do you think there’s a coffin?” inquired one who had not yet spoken. It was Spence.