Old Ben made a hasty examination of the rocks on the floor, then of the exposed vein. He handed the candle to Ham, and, drawing from his pocket a heavy cold chisel, he carefully knocked off some choice pieces of the ore and placed them in his pocket, muttering to himself all the while. When he had satisfied himself, he turned, took the candle, and started out, motioning Ham to precede him. "Best gold quartz I've seed in many a year," he said softly, "only Tad will never believe it." Ham understood. Ahead of them, down the narrow black passage, they saw Tad's light disappear. "They have stepped into the tool-room, boy," said Ben, "an' every tarnal one o' them implements is nearly sacred to Tad. Let's not disturb 'em." He blew out his light and leaned against the wall of the tunnel, pulling Ham back with him. In a few minutes they were surprised to hear loud exclamations and the moving of the old iron wheelbarrows. Ahead they could see the light of the opening, so Old Ben started again toward the entrance. "Guess that memorial service must be all over, from the racket they're makin' with them tarnal carts," he said. When they reached Willis, they found him carefully going through the pockets of the musty old coat hanging upon the wall. The cloth had fairly rotted in the moisture. Tad was holding the treasures as Willis removed them from the pockets. To Tad's surprise, there was inside the coat an old vest. They were no doubt the clothes Mr. Thornton had worn the day of the accident. In one vest pocket was Bill's gold watch, in another a musty pocketbook and a badly worn note-book that had mildewed in the moisture. There were three letters in the outside coat pocket. Willis took one, moist and rotten as it was, from the envelope and noticed they were from his mother, and were probably the last ones she had written. Willis's hand shook violently and two great tears glistened in his eyes. In the other outside pocket was a strange tin tube, perhaps a foot in length, with a removable lid at either end. The tube was rusted red and the ends sealed tight with rust. Willis handed the tube to Tad, a question on his lips. "Thank God," Tad was saying to himself, "thank God, he didn't do it. I've often thought I'd kill him if he had." "If who had what?" questioned Willis. "Don't ask me, lad, not now--I'll tell you some time, perhaps. Come, let's go. This air is very bad, and I'm just a little sick." He linked his arm through Willis's, and together they walked out into the cold morning air. Ben and Ham followed. When they were outside, Tad swung the door shut and locked it. Then, with a note of triumph in his voice, he said: "There, Williams can have the place for all I care," and he held the queer tin tube in his hand before them. "Open it," urged Willis. Tad turned to him.