business-and-social visit, Gus had at long last pinned Fitz down on the exact origin of the hoard of golden coins, asking such shrewd, probing questions that Fitz had at last given up prevarication and subterfuge, feeling compelled to level with his friend and finally reveal the source of their wealth.
Out the back door and down the brick steps, he had led the way, a way by now well-lit by floodlights mounted on the eaves and along the high fence. They had crossed the manicured ten yards of lawn, then up the new, short flight of brick steps to the top of the low mound and so into the green canvas wall-tent.
Inside the tent, he had lit the two gas lanterns, hung one from a hook screwed into the ridgepole immediately above the rectangular slab of greyish granite, and then, from out his pocket, taken a key ring and selected the two keys that fitted the two big padlocks that secured a wide, thick strip of mild steel across the slab. After he had raised that slab and cautioned Gus to be very careful of his footing on the steep and shallow treads, he had led the way down to the crypt.
In the stone-walled chamber, Fitz had first set down the lantern and then, with a cheery, "J us t follow me, Gus," he had with all the relaxed naturalness that reflected his own long, intimate experience, half-bent at his waist and passed through the portal and into the bright, sunlit and untenanted sand world.
He had stood on the marked driftwood log waiting for Gus, but Gus had never emerged from the unseen doorway that somehow existed in the empty air there. So Fitz had at last stepped back through,
i
into the chamber and had, for a quarter hour or more, tried to persuade his stunned friend to, if not immediately pass through the section of wall, at least thrust an arm or a leg through the seemingly nonexistent opening in the stonework. Once he knew it was really there, Gus would surely follow him through it.
Tolliver, however, had stoutly and most profanely, finally, refused to even attempt the—to his mind— impossible and, when it became more than obvious to Fitz that the balding man's self-control was fast slipping away, that indeed he was teetering upon the edge of real hysteria, he had ushered his friend back up the stone stairs, through the tent and the yard, and so on back into the bungalow to his chair and his beer.
Himself ensconced in a matching chair, facing his guest across the width of a leather-topped, cherrywood table, Fitz had been still trying ever since their return aboveground to convince his shaken pal that the sudden disappearance and equally sudden reappearance had been no sleight-of-hand exercise of stage magic, that it had not been a strange hallucinatory experience, but had really happened. His efforts had been all in vain. He was become convinced that, no matter what he said or did, Tolliver would not, could not, would never allow himself to believe what he had seen that night.
Gus went through his liter in silence and was well into a second one before he again spoke. "Fitz, boy, I . . . I'm sorry. But . . . but I just can't handle things like down there in that place; nothing that weird. You know? Maybe . . . maybe if I's to think on it for a week or a month or so . . . ? But look, let's us talk about something else tonight, huh?"
"You had any more prowlers or break-ins here that you knows of, Fitz?"
Fitz took a pull at his stein, wiped the flecks of amber foam from his upper lip with the back of his thumb, and shook his head. "No, Gus, not since I had the place fenced and the house hardened up and put in the lights and alarms and all, I haven't. I guess all that high-priced gadgetry and locks and chain link and barbed wire finally just discouraged the little bastards."
"You stillVe of the opinion it was just neighborhood kids, huh?" asked Gus.
Fitz shrugged. "Hell, Gus, I'm no detective, you know. Sheriff Vaughan seems to think it was those two hell-raising hillbilly boys from a couple of blocks up the
Out the back door and down the brick steps, he had led the way, a way by now well-lit by floodlights mounted on the eaves and along the high fence. They had crossed the manicured ten yards of lawn, then up the new, short flight of brick steps to the top of the low mound and so into the green canvas wall-tent.
Inside the tent, he had lit the two gas lanterns, hung one from a hook screwed into the ridgepole immediately above the rectangular slab of greyish granite, and then, from out his pocket, taken a key ring and selected the two keys that fitted the two big padlocks that secured a wide, thick strip of mild steel across the slab. After he had raised that slab and cautioned Gus to be very careful of his footing on the steep and shallow treads, he had led the way down to the crypt.
In the stone-walled chamber, Fitz had first set down the lantern and then, with a cheery, "J us t follow me, Gus," he had with all the relaxed naturalness that reflected his own long, intimate experience, half-bent at his waist and passed through the portal and into the bright, sunlit and untenanted sand world.
He had stood on the marked driftwood log waiting for Gus, but Gus had never emerged from the unseen doorway that somehow existed in the empty air there. So Fitz had at last stepped back through,
i
into the chamber and had, for a quarter hour or more, tried to persuade his stunned friend to, if not immediately pass through the section of wall, at least thrust an arm or a leg through the seemingly nonexistent opening in the stonework. Once he knew it was really there, Gus would surely follow him through it.
Tolliver, however, had stoutly and most profanely, finally, refused to even attempt the—to his mind— impossible and, when it became more than obvious to Fitz that the balding man's self-control was fast slipping away, that indeed he was teetering upon the edge of real hysteria, he had ushered his friend back up the stone stairs, through the tent and the yard, and so on back into the bungalow to his chair and his beer.
Himself ensconced in a matching chair, facing his guest across the width of a leather-topped, cherrywood table, Fitz had been still trying ever since their return aboveground to convince his shaken pal that the sudden disappearance and equally sudden reappearance had been no sleight-of-hand exercise of stage magic, that it had not been a strange hallucinatory experience, but had really happened. His efforts had been all in vain. He was become convinced that, no matter what he said or did, Tolliver would not, could not, would never allow himself to believe what he had seen that night.
Gus went through his liter in silence and was well into a second one before he again spoke. "Fitz, boy, I . . . I'm sorry. But . . . but I just can't handle things like down there in that place; nothing that weird. You know? Maybe . . . maybe if I's to think on it for a week or a month or so . . . ? But look, let's us talk about something else tonight, huh?"
"You had any more prowlers or break-ins here that you knows of, Fitz?"
Fitz took a pull at his stein, wiped the flecks of amber foam from his upper lip with the back of his thumb, and shook his head. "No, Gus, not since I had the place fenced and the house hardened up and put in the lights and alarms and all, I haven't. I guess all that high-priced gadgetry and locks and chain link and barbed wire finally just discouraged the little bastards."
"You stillVe of the opinion it was just neighborhood kids, huh?" asked Gus.
Fitz shrugged. "Hell, Gus, I'm no detective, you know. Sheriff Vaughan seems to think it was those two hell-raising hillbilly boys from a couple of blocks up the
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