All at once we could hear a low whispering, and then there was a grinding noise of iron against stone; the flag gritted and gave a little, but it held fast all along; and I could understand that the man who was trying to wrench it up had no room to work, and therefore no power to wrench up the stone. Then came the faint whispering again, and it seemed to sound hollow. Then another grinding noise, and the end of the flag was moved a trifle higher, so that the line of light on the old chest looked two or three inches broad. I stepped softly to Sir John and put my lips to his ear as the whispering could be heard again, and I said softly: "Shall I fetch the police?" Sir John for answer set his candle down upon the top of one of the chests and put it out with the bar as he whispered to me in turn: "Wait a few moments." And then--"Look!" He pointed with the iron bar; and as I stared hard at the faint light shining up from below the edge of the stone, I could see just the tips of some one's fingers come through and sweep the sawdust away to right and left. Then they came through a little more, and were drawn back, while directly after came the low whispering again, and the hand now was thrust right through as far as the wrist. "Yes," said Sir John then, as he grasped my arm--"the police!" Just then he uttered a gasp, and I turned to look at him; but we were in the dark, and I could not see his face, but he gripped my arm more tightly, and I looked once more toward the broad ray, to see the hand resting now full in the light, and I turned cold with horror, for there was something shining quite brightly, and I could see that it was a signet ring, and what was more, the old ring Mr Barclay used to wear--the one he had worn since he was quite a stripling, and beyond which the joint had grown so big that he could never get the jewel off. I should have bent down there, staring at that ring for long enough, fascinated, as you may say, only all at once I felt my arm dragged, and I was pushed softly into the outer cellar, and from there into the passage beyond, Sir John closing and locking the door softly, before tottering into the pantry and sinking into a chair, uttering a low moan. "Oh, don't take on, sir," I whispered; but he turned upon me roughly. "Silence, man!" he panted, "and give me time to think;" and then I heard him breathe softly, in a voice so full of agony that it was terrible to hear: "Oh, my son!--my son!" "No, no, sir," I said--for I couldn't bear it. "He wouldn't; there's some mistake." "Mistake? Then you saw it too, Burdon? No; there is no mistake." I couldn't speak, for I remembered about the keys, and something seemed to come up in my throat and choke me, for it seemed so terrible for my young master to have done this thing. "What are you going to do, sir?" I said at last, and it was me now who gripped his arm.