It began to give, he could hear bits of it
falling into the cavity below. There! it went with a crash, more than
a square foot of it.
He leant over the hole at his feet, devoutly hoping that the ground on
which he was standing would not give way also, and tried to look down.
Next second he threw his head back coughing and gasping. The foul air
rushing up from the cavity or chamber, or whatever it was, had half
poisoned him. Then not without difficulty he climbed out of the grave
and sat down on the pile of sand he had thrown up. Clearly he must
allow the air in the place to sweeten a little. Clearly also he must
have assistance if he was to descend into the great hole. He could not
undertake this by himself.
He sat upon the edge of the pit wondering who there was that he might
trust. Not his own gardener. To begin with he would never come near
the place at night, and besides such people talk. The Squire? No, he
could not rouse him at this hour, and also, for obvious reasons, they
had not met lately. Ah, he had it. George was the man! To begin with
he could be relied upon to hold his tongue. The episode of the
production of the real Mrs. Quest had taught him that George was a
person of no common powers. He could think and he could act also.
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