“When I was here before I noticed something different about this tomb. Look. The stones on the other tombs are cemented into place.” He opened a pocket knife and illustrated on the next tomb, that of Count Burckhardt. The knife blade ran along the crack without penetrating, leaving a trail of fine white powder. “But Harald’s stone…” The blade of the knife disappeared, sinking deep into the black line between the tombstone and the next slab.

“Looks as if someone has had it up, once upon a time,” George agreed. His eyes glowed like a cat’s in the dim light. “I don’t envy them the job. That stone weighs hundreds of pounds.”

“That’s why I enlisted you,” Tony said affably. “With my bad arm I can’t lift a pillow.”

George glowered at him, and then burst out laughing.

“All right, old boy. I asked for it.”

Tony did enjoy the next hour. Reclining comfortably, with his back up against the stone feet of Count Burckhardt, he watched George sweat. I didn’t help much. George had the necessary muscle, and he knew what he was doing—first the crowbar, then a series of wedges to prop the slowly rising stone. Finally he had it tilted back like the lid of a box, with about three feet between its lifted edge and the floor.

George sat down and lit a cigarette.

“I don’t think we should risk raising it any more,” he wheezed. “There’s nothing to brace it on the other side if the angle gets too steep. Now what?”

“Now I take over.”

Tony crawled to the edge of the hole. I was already peering in. I couldn’t see anything, though; it was too dark down there.

Besides shoving in wedges, at George’s orders, I had spent the time kicking myself. I should have noticed that crack. Here we were looking for a hiding place, and this was one of the right size. This could be it. I was so excited I forgot to breathe. I even forgot George Nolan, big and brawny and thoroughly unscrupulous, standing over me.

Tony turned his flashlight down into the crypt. But no flash of refracted light from huge jewels dazzled our eyes. No gilded wings glimmered and shone. There seemed to be nothing in the vault but a wooden coffin bound with strips of rusted metal. It rested on the bottom of a hole that was faced and floored with stone. The top of the coffin was about two feet below floor level. It was pushed to one end of the vault, so that there was an empty space at the bottom. Tony turned his light in that direction.

A moment later I was backing hastily away on hands and knees like a puppy that has encountered a porcupine. George stared at me and bent down to look for himself.

“Nolan, go get Blankenhagen,” said Tony, in a funny croak.

George stepped back.

“For that? Believe me, old man, he doesn’t need—”