Mr Slimm’s first act was to clear away the weeds and rubbish which had in time sprung up round Niobe’s feet—a task in which he was heartily aided by the onlookers, Mr Carver doing great feats with the thistles; and even Bates joined in the task, covering himself with distinction by his desperate onslaught upon sundry dandelions which time had sown there. This task being accomplished, the real work commenced.
‘I do not think we need move that ancient lady,’ said Mr Slimm, touching the Niobe. ‘We will break earth here in front of her.’
By this time, excitement reigned supreme. Mr Carver hopped about like an animated cork, giving the most contrary directions, and sadly interfering with the task in hand by his well-meant interference. After narrowly escaping sudden death from a hearty swing of Mr Slimm’s pickaxe, he retired to a safe distance, and there directed the work in safety, giving instructions which were totally ignored by the worker.
‘I never calculated,’ said the American, as he worked, ‘to be prospecting for pay dirt on a gentleman’s lawn. As an ordinary rule, such is not the place to look for dust. The symptoms don’t indicate gold,’ he continued, digging away with great heartiness; ‘but we never can tell what’s going to turn up, as the philosopher said. Nothing like faith in these little operations. Faith, we are told, will remove mountains. It isn’t a mountain exactly that I want to move; but this is precious slow work. Perhaps I’m out of practice, perhaps it’s my impatience, but this heap don’t seem to be increasing to any powerful extent. It can’t be very much farther down, and that’s a fact, or my old comrade must have been a much more powerful man than I took him for.’
By this time he had excavated the earth to some depth, but as yet nothing was visible. He resumed his task heartily, but as he got deeper and deeper, his anxiety increased.
‘I hope we are not going to be sold,’ Mr Slimm said at length.
‘Under the statue, remember,’ said Edgar; ‘you are going too deep.’
‘I believe you are right,’ replied Mr Slimm, as he directed a few blows almost viciously at the side of the hole he had dug. At that moment the point of the pick struck on some hard surface. Expectation was on tiptoe, and the utmost pitch of excitement was reached: in other words, every one became intensely quiet—if quiet can be intense—and watched the worker closely. A few more blows given with hearty good-will, and the spade plied with equal zest, brought to light a square box, directly beneath the statue, but only a few inches underground. A few touches of the spade completed its liberation, and Charles Morton’s hiding-place was no longer an uncertainty, but a pleasant reality.
There, after so long an interment, it lay. The treasure which had caused so much jealousy and scheming, disappointment and misery, care and sorrow, avarice and cunning, was there. For that money one life had been lost; for that treasure, two proud hearts had suffered four years’ misery and deprivation. For that poor dross, one man’s dying bed was imbittered and poisoned; for the loss of it, one woman had wept and raved in vain. Hidden from fear, found by that mysterious agency poor mortals call chance, let us hope at last that it is destined to work some good in a world of tears.
It was no dream. The contents were shaken out unceremoniously upon the grass, and certified by Mr Carver. Neat piles of papers and securities, chiefly American, were wrapped in water-proof, in a careful manner. Their previous estimate of Mr Morton’s fortune was found not to have been far wrong; for when the amount of the securities came to be counted, the sum came to no less than thirty-eight thousand five hundred and ten pounds.