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<h3>Chapter Twelve.</h3> <h4>The End of the Instructions.</h4> Paul Capel did not realise his position. “Is there some mistake, Mr Girtle?” “Mistake?” “There is nothing here!” “Nothing there?” “Nothing! See for yourself.” The old man stepped in, searched, and came out with drops of sweat upon his yellow forehead. “Well?” exclaimed Capel, excitedly, as the old man stared in a dazed way. “It is gone!” said the old lawyer, in a hoarse voice, and his hands trembling violently. “Well, Mr Girtle,” said Capel, at last, in a voice that he vainly strove to make firm; “what have you to say?” “To say?” said the old lawyer, hastily. “Oh, it is all a cock and bull story,” cried Artis. “There never was any treasure.” “Silence, sir,” cried the old lawyer recovering himself. “How can you speak like that in the presence of the dead?” “Bah!” cried Artis. “Presence of the dead, indeed! Presence of a mummy. Would you have me pull a long face as I went through the British Museum?” “I would have you behave—” “You look here,” cried Artis, sharply. “You are executor, and this treasure, if there was one, lay in your charge. It’s nothing to me. If it were, I should call in the police.” “Mr Capel,” cried the old lawyer excitedly, “I swear to you, sir, that the money and jewels were there a fortnight ago. I came down here with Ramo, and there lay the two cases with their contents.” “Well?” said Capel, “what then?” “We carefully closed up the place.” “Then somebody must have been down since, and taken the treasure away.” “Only two men could have done this, sir, Ramo and myself.” “That throws it on to you,” said Artis. “And my reputation, sir, will bear me out when I proclaim my innocence.” “I don’t know,” said Artis. “Sudden temptation; kleptomania and that sort of thing.” The old lawyer turned his back. “Mr Gerard Artis, this is no time for such remarks as these,” said Capel. “Mr Girtle, what have you to say?” “At present, nothing, sir. I am astounded. You know we came down on that dreadful morning, and found the chamber intact; besides it could not have been forced.” “There were the keys,” said Artis. “But they have never left my person. There were but the two sets of keys—the Colonel’s and mine. Those were the Colonel’s set that we found upon Ramo.” “Rather strange that the Colonel should have given you a set,” said Artis. “No more strange than that a gentleman should trust a banker,” said Capel. “What, going to side with the lawyer?” Capel made no reply, only gazed searchingly at the old executor. “There may have been other keys, Mr Girtle.” “Oh, no. The place was made some years ago, for a sarcophagus, and the makers never imagined that it would be used for a safe.” There was a dead silence. “Let us search again. The cases may have slipped aside.” “It is impossible,” said the old lawyer; and as they two passed into the iron chamber, Artis exchanged a glance with Katrine, while the old butler stood looking dazed. “You see,” said Mr Girtle, holding down the light, “there is nowhere for the cases to have slipped; all is of plain, solid steel, without a corner or crack.” “But underneath,” said Capel. “Underneath? Look for yourself,” said Mr Girtle; “where there is not solid steel there is solid iron, and beneath that, massive stone. The treasure seems to have been spirited away.” “That’s it,” said Artis. “The old man was not satisfied, and he got up out of his coffin and hid it somewhere else.” Capel caught Artis by the collar. “I will not—” he began; but mastering his indignant anger he let fall his arm. “There is nothing here,” he said; “let us look about the outside.” That was the work of a minute, for on every hand there was the blank stone—wall, floor and roof, and the exterior of the iron safe or tomb was perfectly rectangular and smooth. “What was the size of the cases?” “One was about twelve inches by eight, and three or four deep, and the other rather smaller,” replied the old lawyer; “both too large for me to have juggled them into my pockets when I opened the steel chest, Mr Artis.” “You held the keys, and if you meant to take the treasure, you had it before.” “Enough of this,” cried Capel. “It is plain that the bequest has been taken away. Mr Girtle, we will finish at once—fulfil my uncle’s commands. Come.” He went to the head of the oaken coffin, and took one handle, when, influenced by his example, the others helped to raise it a little from the floor, and it was thrust in and onward, till it rested upon the bottom of the steel chest, nearly filling the space. Capel stood on the right of the entrance, and for fully five minutes there was perfect silence in the solemn chamber. “Go on, Mr Girtle,” Capel said, at last, and the old man bent down, thrust the key in the end, gave a half turn, and the two ponderous sides slowly curved over till they were nearly together leaving only a few inches of the shining brass breastplate visible. Then there was a faint click, and the left side fell heavily, setting free the right, which descended with a loud clang, and closed tightly over a rebate in the lower side, so closely, that it was only by holding a candle near that the junction could be seen. “Go on;” and the old lawyer again inserted a key. There was no show of effort on his part, as the old lawyer turned the key, when the end of the iron chamber closed in tightly, and after once more examining the blank stone chamber, they slowly ascended the steps. Then the iron door was closed and locked, and Mr Girtle handed Capel the keys. An hour later, a couple of masons were at work with the stones that were below in the locked-up cellar, and the next day they had filled in a wall of six feet thick, cemented over the face, so that only a dark patch showed where the entrance to the colonel’s tomb had been. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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