The soil was sandy and light, but matted with the roots of the surrounding firs.  Gorse tore their hands; and as they baled the sand from the grave, it was often discoloured with their blood.  An hour passed of unremitting energy upon the part of Morris, of lukewarm help on that of John; and still the trench was barely nine inches in depth.  Into this the body was rudely flung:  sand was piled upon it, and then more sand must be dug, and gorse had to be cut to pile on that; and still from one end of the sordid mound a pair of feet projected and caught the light upon their patent-leather toes.  But by this time the nerves of both were shaken; even Morris had enough of his grisly task; and they skulked off like animals into the thickest of the neighbouring covert.

‘It’s the best that we can do,’ said Morris, sitting down.

‘And now,’ said John, ’perhaps you’ll have the politeness to tell me what it’s all about.’

‘Upon my word,’ cried Morris, ’if you do not understand for yourself, I almost despair of telling you.’

‘O, of course it’s some rot about the tontine,’ returned the other.  ’But it’s the merest nonsense.  We’ve lost it, and there’s an end.’

‘I tell you,’ said Morris, ’Uncle Masterman is dead.  I know it, there’s a voice that tells me so.’

‘Well, and so is Uncle Joseph,’ said John.

‘He’s not dead, unless I choose,’ returned Morris.

‘And come to that,’ cried John, ’if you’re right, and Uncle Masterman’s been dead ever so long, all we have to do is to tell the truth and expose Michael.’

‘You seem to think Michael is a fool,’ sneered Morris.  ’Can’t you understand he’s been preparing this fraud for years?  He has the whole thing ready:  the nurse, the doctor, the undertaker, all bought, the certificate all ready but the date!  Let him get wind of this business, and you mark my words, Uncle Masterman will die in two days and be buried in a week.  But see here, Johnny; what Michael can do, I can do.  If he plays a game of bluff, so can I. If his father is to live for ever, by God, so shall my uncle!’

‘It’s illegal, ain’t it?’ said John.

‘A man must have some moral courage,’ replied Morris with dignity.

’And then suppose you’re wrong?  Suppose Uncle Masterman’s alive and kicking?’

‘Well, even then,’ responded the plotter, ’we are no worse off than we were before; in fact, we’re better.  Uncle Masterman must die some day; as long as Uncle Joseph was alive, he might have died any day; but we’re out of all that trouble now:  there’s no sort of limit to the game that I propose—­it can be kept up till Kingdom Come.’

‘If I could only see how you meant to set about it’ sighed John.  ’But you know, Morris, you always were such a bungler.’

‘I’d like to know what I ever bungled,’ cried Morris; ’I have the best collection of signet rings in London.’

‘Well, you know, there’s the leather business,’ suggested the other.  ‘That’s considered rather a hash.’