“All right! One minute, now, and we’re safe.”
“Safe!” repeated the other. “With that opened grave! I shall never feel safe again.”
From between the earthen walls Kent’s voice came, muffled. “Safe as a church,” he averred, “from the minute that we have the coffin. Take this end of the rope. Got it? Now this one. It’s fast, fore and aft. Here I come.”
With a leap he clambered out of the excavation. He took one end of the rope from Sedgwick’s hand. “All ready to haul?” he inquired in matter-of-fact tones.
“Wait. What are we going to do with this—this thing?” demanded his co-laborer. “We can never get it to the car.”
A low chuckle sounded from the shrubbery back of them. The resurrectionists stood, stricken.
“An owl,” whispered Sedgwick at length.
“No,” replied Kent in the same tone. Then, in full voice, and with vivid urgency, “Haul!”
Up came the heavy casket, bumping and grating. Even through the rope Sedgwick felt, with horror, the tumbling of the helpless sodden body within. With a powerful effort Kent swung his end up on the mound. The lantern flashed. By its gleam Sedgwick saw Kent striving to force his spade-edge under the coffin lid, to pry it loose. The chuckle sounded again.
“That’s enough,” said a heavy voice, with a suggestion of mirthful appreciation.