Philip was silent, and, soldier though he was, his face blanched in the neighborhood of one poor coffin.
Both the men outside were staring intently into the open grave. The torch-light fell broadly on Bromley's back, and cast a black shadow from his bent body into the space below, where his hands were at work.
"Well, this is queer!" said he, straightening his back and showing a surprised face to the light. "I've struck the chime of a cask."
"No!" cried Coleman and Philip together.
"Yes, I have," said Bromley. "Hand me the spade."
Now the work of digging was begun in good earnest, and, I am afraid, with less awe than before of what lay below. Light as the soil was, the opening had to be enlarged, and it was hard upon midnight when the small beer-keg was free enough to be moved from its resting-place. With the first joggle Bromley gave it, there was a sound of chinking like coin.
"Do you hear that?" exclaimed Bromley. "That's not the sound of bones."
"It's money!" cried Philip.
Lieutenant Coleman said nothing, but jumping down to the aid of Bromley, they lifted it out on the grass, where it rolled gently down a little slope, chink-a-ty-chink, chink-a-ty-chink.
"Bring the ax!"