Toto shrugged his shoulders, not irreverently, but as if to say that when a dead man has been without Christian burial sixty years, it cannot make any difference whether he gets it after all or not.  “The crowbar is still good,” Toto said, stooping down to disengage it from the skeleton’s grasp.  But Malipieri laid a hand on his shoulder, for it occurred to him that the mason, armed with an iron bar, might be a dangerous adversary if he tried to escape.

“You do not need that just now,” said the architect.

Toto glanced at Malipieri furtively and saw that he was understood.  He stood upright, affecting indifference.  They went on, through the breach to which the slit had been widened.  Toto moved slowly, and held his candle down to the running water in the channel.

“There is plenty of it,” he observed.

“Where does it come from?” asked Malipieri, suddenly, in the hope of an unguarded answer.

“From heaven,” answered Toto without hesitation; “and everything that falls from heaven is good,” he added, quoting an ancient proverb.

“What would happen if we closed the entrance, so that it could not get in at all?”

“The book of wisdom,” Toto replied, “is buried under Pasquino.  How should I know what would happen?”

“You know a good many things, my friend.”

Malipieri understood that the man would not say more, and led the way out.

“Good-bye, grandpapa,” growled Toto, waving his hairy hand towards the well.  “Who knows whether we shall meet again?”

They went on, and in due time emerged into the upper air.  It was raining heavily, as Toto had guessed, and before they had reached the other end of the courtyard they were drenched.  But it was a relief to be out of doors, and Malipieri breathed the fresh air with keen delight, as a thirsty man drinks.  The rain poured down steadily and ran in rivers along the paved gutters, and roared into the openings that carried it off.  Malipieri could not help thinking how it must be roaring now, far down at the bottom of the old shaft, led thither through deep-buried and long-forgotten channels.

Upstairs, Masin was inclined to be friendly with his fellow-craftsman, and gave him dry clothes to sleep in, and bread and cheese and wine in his own room.  In spite of his experiences, Masin had never known how to be suspicious.  But as Malipieri looked once more at the man’s stony face and indistinguishable eyes, he thought differently of his prisoner.  He locked the outer door and took the key of the patent lock with him when he went to bed at last.

It does not often rain heavily in Rome, late in the spring, for any long time, but when Malipieri looked out the next morning, it was still pouring steadily, and the sky over the courtyard was uniformly grey.  It is apparently a law of nature that exceptions should come when least wanted.