'How can I see, if you take away the lantern?' asked Mrs. Veale. 'Put your arm in and you will find the hand.'
He drew still further away. 'I will not. I have seen enough. I know of this hiding-place. That suffices. I will go home.'
The horror came over him lest she should force him to put his hand into the stone coffin, and that there, in the blackness and mystery of the Interior, the dead hand of the murderer would make a leap and clasp his.
'I have had enough of this,' he said, and a shiver ran through him, 'I will go home. Curse me! I'm not going to be mixed up with all this devilry and witchery if I can help it.'
'Perhaps the hand is gone,' said Mrs. Veale.
'Oh! I hope so.'
'I sent it after your finger.'
'Indeed, may it be long on its travels.' He was reassured. It was not pleasant to think of so close proximity to the murderer's embalmed, still active hand. He suspected that Mrs. Veale was attempting to wriggle out of her undertaking. 'Indeed—I thought I was to see the hand, and now the hand is not here.'
'I cannot say. Anyhow, the money is here.'
'What money?'