“SEVEN KEYS,” said d**k, as, in the early light of the morning, they walked towards the tombs. “Cody had one; Silva, the gardener, had one; Mrs Cody had another; Havelock, being the chief conspirator, had two. By the way, have they got Stalletti out of the lake? He has the sixth, and if I am not mistaken you will find the seventh hanging round the neck of Cawler’s brother.”
They had to wait an hour in the wood until the rescue party had done their work. The sun was rising as they put two dripping wet keys into d**k’s hand.
“And these make seven,” he said.
Down to the tomb they went. The door of one of the little chapels was wide open, and d**k stopped to flash his lamp inside. He threw a light on a square hole in one corner of the grim apartment.
“There is a subterranean passage that l
