Robinson flashed on his light. Old Blackburn whimpered:
"The Cedars is at its tricks again, and there's nothing we can do."
"It was like a lost soul," Katherine sighed. "It seemed to cry from this place."
"It must be traced," Bobby said.
"Then tell me its direction certainly," Robinson challenged. "We'd flounder in the thicket. A waste of time. Let us get through here. Hurry, Rawlins!"
The light showed Bobby that the detective and Jenkins had nearly finished. He shrank from the first hard sound of metal against metal.
It came. After a moment the light shone on the dull face of the casket which was streaked with dirt.
Jenkins rested on his spade. He groaned. It occurred to Bobby that the man couldn't have worked hard enough in this cold air to have started the perspiration that streamed down his wrinkled face.
"It would be a tough job to lift it out," Rawlins said.
"No need," Robinson answered. "Get the soil away from the edges."