“Oh, Mr. Monk!” cried William, “is he—is he——”
“He is dead,” was the reply. “So much the better.”
As he spoke, he bent down and searched the young man’s pockets. His brow blackened, for he did not find what he sought. Then he took the light from the wall, and held it close to Brinkley’s eyes.
Satisfied that he did not breathe, he climbed up the path and rejoined his trembling companion. They passed out of the place, hurriedly replaced the trap-door, and piled on sand and stones.
“There!” said Monk, with a wild smile on his deadly pale face. “He won’t trouble either of us again. Come, come!”
And he strode hastily away, followed by William Jones, leaving the young man of the caravan in the subterranean tomb.
CHAPTER XII.—WILLIAM JONES IS SERIOUS.
The two men walked together through the darkness as far as the door of William Jones’s hut; then they parted. Mr. Monk struck across the sand-hills towards his own home, while Jones entered the doorway of his cabin.