“This, then, is the slab?”
“Yes.”
“Ay, and here is the ring—but the ring is sealed into the stone.”
“We must have a lever.”
“That’s a very easy thing to find.”
Whilst looking around them, Athos and Monck perceived a little ash of about three inches in diameter, which had shot up in an angle of the wall, reaching a window, concealed by its branches.
“Have you a knife?” said Monck to the fisherman.
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Cut down this tree, then.”
The fisherman obeyed, but not without notching his cutlass. When the ash was cut and fashioned into the shape of a lever, the three men penetrated into the vault.
“Stop where you are,” said Monck to the fisherman. “We are going to dig up some powder; your light may be dangerous.”
The man drew back in a sort of terror, and faithfully kept to the post assigned him, whilst Monck and Athos turned behind a column at the foot of which, penetrating through a crack, was a moonbeam, reflected exactly on the stone which the Comte de la Fère had come so far in search.
“This is it,” said Athos, pointing out to the general the Latin inscription.
“Yes,” said Monck.
Then, as if still willing to leave the Frenchman one means of evasion—
“Do you not observe that this vault has already been broken into,” continued he, “and that several statues have already been knocked down?”
“My lord, you have, without doubt, heard that the religious respect of your Scots loves to confide to the statues of the dead the valuable objects they have possessed during their lives. Therefore, the soldiers had reason to think that under the pedestals of the statues which ornament most of these tombs, a treasure was hidden. They have consequently broken down pedestal and statue: but the tomb of the venerable cannon, with which we have to do, is not distinguished by any monument. It is simple, therefore it has been protected by the superstitious fear which your Puritans have always had of sacrilege. Not a morsel of the masonry of this tomb has been chipped off.”
“That is true,” said Monck.
Athos seized the lever.
“Shall I help you?” said Monck.
“Thank you, my lord; but I am not willing that your honor should lend your hand to a work of which, perhaps, you would not take the responsibility if you knew the probable consequences of it.”
Monck raised his head.
“What do you mean by that, Monsieur?”
“I mean—but that man—”
“Stop,” said Monck; “I perceive what you are afraid of. I shall make a trial.” Monck turned towards the fisherman, the whole of whose profile was thrown upon the wall.
“Come here, friend!” said he in English, and in a tone of command.
The fisherman did not stir.
“That is well,” continued he: “he does not know English. Speak to me, then, in English, if you please, Monsieur.”
“My lord,” replied Athos, “I have frequently seen men in certain circumstances have sufficient command over themselves not to reply to a question put to them in a language they understood. The fisherman is perhaps more learned than we believe him to be. Send him away, my lord, I beg you.”
“Decidedly,” said Monck, “he wishes to have me alone in this vault. Never mind, we shall go through with it; one man is as good as another man; and we are alone. My friend,” said Monck to the fisherman, “go back up the stairs we have just descended, and watch that nobody comes to disturb us.” The fisherman made a sign of obedience. “Leave your torch,” said Monck; “it would betray your presence, and might procure you a musket-ball.”
The fisherman appeared to appreciate the counsel; he laid down the light, and disappeared under the vault of the stairs. Monck took up the torch, and brought it to the foot of the column.
“Ah, ah!” said he; “money, then, is concealed under this tomb?”
“Yes, my lord; and in five minutes you will no longer doubt it.”
At the same time Athos struck a violent blow upon the plaster, which split, presenting a chink for the point of the lever. Athos introduced the bar into this crack, and soon large pieces of plaster yielded, rising up like rounded slabs. Then the Comte de la Fère seized the stones and threw them away with a force that hands so delicate as his might not have been supposed capable of having.
“My lord,” said Athos, “this is plainly the masonry of which I told your honor.”
“Yes; but I do not yet see the casks,” said Monck.
“If I had a dagger,” said Athos, looking round him, “you should soon see them, Monsieur. Unfortunately, I left mine in your tent.”
“I would willingly offer you mine,” said Monck, “but the blade is too thin for such work.”
Athos appeared to look around him for a thing of some kind that might serve as a substitute for the weapon he desired. Monck did not lose one of the movements of his hands, or one of the expressions of his eyes. “Why do you not ask the fisherman for his cutlass?” said Monck; “he has a cutlass.”
“Ah! that is true,” said Athos; “for he cut the tree down with it.” And he advanced towards the stairs.
“Friend,” said he to the fisherman, “throw me down your cutlass, if you please; I want it.”
The noise of the falling weapon sounded on the steps.
“Take it,” said Monck; “it is a solid instrument, as I have seen, and a strong hand might make good use of it.”
Athos appeared only to give to the words of Monck the natural and simple sense under which they were to be heard and understood. Nor did he remark, or at least appear to remark, that when he returned with the weapon, Monck drew back, placing his left hand on the stock of his pistol; in
