niche. We can tell from the screws and general appearance if it has been tampered with."
The clergyman sat down and wiped his bald head.
"I don't like it," he said. "I don't like it at all. Still, I don't suppose a look at the coffin can harm any one. We'll go, Alan, we'll go; but I must take Jarks."
"The sexton?"
"Yes. I want a witness--two witnesses; you are one, Jarks the other. It is a gruesome task that we have before us." He shuddered again. "I don't like it. Profanation!"
"If this letter is to be believed, the profanation has already been committed."
"Cicero Gramp," repeated Mr. Phelps as they went out. "Who is he?"
"A fat man--a tramp--a reciter. I saw him at Bournemouth. He delivered that letter at the hotel himself; the waiter described him, and as the creature is a perfect Falstaff, I recalled his face--I had seen him on the parade. I went at once to see if I could find him, but he was gone."
"A fat man," said the Rector. "Humph! He was at the Good Samaritan the other night. I'll tell you about him later."
The two trudged along in silence and knocked up Jarks, the sexton, on the way. They had no difficulty in rousing him. He came down at once with a lantern, and was much surprised to learn the errand of Rector and squire.
"Want to have a look at Muster Marlow's vault," said he in creaking tones. "Well, it ain't a bad night for a visit, I do say. But quiet comp'ny, Muster Phelps and Muster Thorold, very quiet. What do ye want to see Muster Marlow for?"
"We want to see if his body is in the vault," said Alan.
"Why, for sure it's there, sir. Muster Marlow don't go visiting."
"I had a letter at Bournemouth, Jarks, to say the body had been stolen."
Jarks stared.
"It ain't true!" he cried in a voice cracked with passion. "It's casting mud on my 'arning my bread. I've bin sexton here fifty year, man and boy--I never had no corp as was stolen. They all lies comfortable arter my tucking them in. Only Gabriel's trump will wake 'em."
By this time they were round the Lady Chapel, and within sight of the tomb. Phelps, too much agitated to speak, beckoned to Jarks to hold up the lantern, which he did, gram bling and muttering the while.
"I've buried hundreds of corps," he growled, "and not one of 'em's goed away. What 'ud they go for? I make 'em comfortable, I do."
"Hold the light steady, Jarks," said the Rector, whose own hand was just as unsteady. He could hardly get the key into the lock.
At last the door was open, and headed by Jarks with the lantern, they entered. The cold, earthy smell, the charnel-house feeling shook the nerves of both men. Jarks, accustomed as he was to the presence of the dead, hobbled along without showing any emotion other than wrath, and triumphantly swung the lantern towards a niche wherein reposed a coffin.
"Ain't he there quite comfortable?" wheezed he. "Don't I tell you they never goes from here! It's a lovely vault; no corp 'ud need a finer."
"Wait a bit!" said Alan, stepping forward. "Turn the light along the top of the coffin, Jarks. Hullo! the lid's loose!"
"An' unscrewed!" gasped the sexton. "He's bin getting out."
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