A scarlet flush, which mounted to the roots of Mrs. Holmes’s hair, indicated that the shot had told, and Mrs. Dodd went to her own room, where she carefully locked herself in. She was determined to sit upon her precious spade until midnight, if it were necessary, to keep it.
Mrs. Smithers was sitting up in bed with the cold perspiration oozing from every pore, when the kitchen clock struck twelve sharp, quick strokes. The other clocks in the house took up the echo and made merry with it. The grandfather’s clock in the hall was the last to strike, and the twelve deep-toned notes boomed a solemn warning which, to more than one quaking listener, bore a strong suggestion of another world—an uncanny world at that.
“Guess I’ll go along,” said Dick to himself, yawning and stretching. “I might just as well see the fun.”
Mrs. Smithers, with her private spade and her odorous lantern, was at the spot first, closely seconded by Mrs. Dodd, in a voluminous garment of red flannel which had seen all of its best days and not a few of its worst. Trembling from head to foot, came Mrs. Holmes, carrying a pair of shears, which she had snatched up at the last moment when she discovered the spade was missing. Mr. Perkins, fully garbed, appeared with his improvised shovel. Uncle Israel, in his piebald dressing-gown, tottered along in the rear, bearing his spade, still unwrapped, his bedroom candle, and a box of matches. Dick surveyed the scene from a safe, shadowy distance, and on a branch near the skull, Claudius Tiberius was stretched at full length, purring with a loud, resonant purr which could be heard from afar.
After the first shock of surprise, which was especially keen on the part of Mrs. Dodd, when she saw Uncle Israel in the company, Mrs. Smithers broke the silence.
“It’s nothink more nor a wild-goose chase,” she said, resentfully. “A-gettin’ us all out’n our beds at this time o’ night! It’s a sufferin’ and dyin’ shame, that’s wot it is, and if sperrits was like other folks, ’t wouldn’t ’ave happened.”
“Sarah,” said Mrs. Dodd, firmly, “keep your mouth shut. Israel, will you dig?”
“We’ll all dig,” said Mrs. Holmes, in the voice of authority, and thereafter the dirt flew briskly enough, accompanied by the laboured breathing of perspiring humanity.
It was Uncle Israel’s spade that first touched the box, and, with a cry of delight, he stooped for it, as did everybody else. By sheer force of muscle, Mrs. Dodd got it away from him.
“This wrangle,” sighed Mr. Perkins, “is both unseemly and sordid. Let us all agree to abide by dear Uncle Ebeneezer’s last bequests.”