“Police, then!” said Bryce.  “What on earth are they after?”

“Look here!” whispered Dick, pulling at Bryce’s arm again.  “Come on!  I know how to get in there without their seeing us.  You follow me.”

Bryce followed readily, and Dick stepping through the wicket-gate, seized his companion’s wrist and led him amongst the bushes in the direction of the spot from whence came the metallic sounds.  He walked with the step of a cat, and Bryce took pains to follow his example.  And presently from behind a screen of cypresses they looked out on the expanse of flagging in the midst of which stood the tomb of Richard Jenkins.

Round about that tomb were five men whose faces were visible enough in the light thrown by a couple of strong lamps, one of which stood on the tomb itself, while the other was set on the ground.  Four out of the five the two watchers recognized at once.  One, kneeling on the flags, and busy with a small crowbar similar to that which Bryce carried inside his overcoat, was the master-mason of the cathedral.  Another, standing near him, was Mitchington.  A third was a clergyman —­one of the lesser dignitaries of the Chapter.  A fourth —­whose presence made Bryce start for the second time that. evening—­was the Duke of Saxonsteade.  But the fifth was a stranger—­a tall man who stood between Mitchington and the Duke, evidently paying anxious attention to the master-mason’s proceedings.  He was no Wrychester man—­Bryce was convinced of that.

And a moment later he was convinced of another equally certain fact.  Whatever these five men were searching for, they had no clear or accurate idea of its exact whereabouts.  The master-mason was taking up the small squares of flagstone with his crowbar one by one, from the outer edge of the foot of the old box-tomb; as he removed each, he probed the earth beneath it.  And Bryce, who had instinctively realized what was happening, and knew that somebody else than himself was in possession of the secret of the scrap of paper, saw that it would be some time before they arrived at the precise spot indicated in the Latin directions.  He quietly drew back and tugged at Dick Bewery.

“Stop here, and keep quiet!” he whispered when they had retreated out of all danger of being overheard.  “Watch ’em!  I want to fetch somebody—­want to know who that stranger is.  You don’t know him?”

“Never seen him before,” replied Dick.  “I say!—­come quietly back—­don’t give it away.  I want to know what it’s all about.”

Bryce squeezed the lad’s arm by way of assurance and made his way back through the bushes.  He wanted to get hold of Harker, and at once, and he hurried round to the old man’s house and without ceremony walked into his parlour.  Harker, evidently expecting him, and meanwhile amusing himself with his pipe and book, rose from his chair as the younger man entered.

“Found anything?” he asked.