In a little depression between the mounds of two graves lay a plain coffin of stained wood.It was closed, but an attempt to move it showed that it was not empty.A nearer inspection revealed that the lid was not screwed down in the usual manner, but hastily fastened with nails.Dr.Lynn and Gerald looked at each other.
There was something mysterious in the presence of this coffin above ground.
"Has there been a funeral--interrupted--or anything of that kind?"asked Gerald.
"Nothing of the sort.I wish Bolan were here.He might have something to say about it."Bolan was the sexton.Gerald knew where he lived, within a stone's throw of the spot, and volunteered to fetch him.Dr.Lynn looked all over the sinister black box, but no plate or mark of any kind rewarded his search.Meanwhile, young Ffrench sped along the lower road to Bolan's house.
The sexton was in, just preparing for a smoke in company with the local blacksmith, when Gerald entered with the news of the uncanny discovery in the churchyard.Eleven young Bolans, grouped around the turf fire, drank in the intelligence and instantly scattered to spread the report in eleven different directions.A tale confided to the Bolan household was confided to rumor.
Blacksmith and sexton rose together and accompanied Gerald to the spot where he had left Dr.Lynn, but Dr.Lynn was no longer alone.
The rector had heard steps in the road; it was a constabulary patrol on its round, and the old gentleman's hail had brought two policemen to his side.There they stood, profoundly puzzled and completely in the dark, except for the light given by their bull's-eye lanterns.But the glare of these lanterns had been seen from the road.Some people shunned them, as lights in a graveyard should always be shunned; but others, hearing voices, had suffered their curiosity to overcome their misgivings, and were gathered around, silent, open-mouthed, wondering.So stood the group when Gerald and his companions joined it.