“Nay, but who should steal the key of a burial vault?” objected the vicar, incredulously. “’Tis the last thing a man would covet, I imagine.” But though Tregenna did not press the point, the notion he had suggested did not leave his mind. And even after he had had tea with Joan and her father, and had started on his way back to his vessel, it recurred to him again and again. So that at last he stopped short, turned back, and made his way once more to the churchyard. CHAPTER XX. THE FREE-TRADERS’ FAREWELL. What if one of Ann’s friends, her poor lover Tom for instance, had stolen the key of the vault, in order to be able to pass an hour by the coffin which held the remains of one who had been so dear to him? This seemed so likely, that Tregenna was resolved to put his notion to the test. But he found the door of the vault safely locked, and no signs about of any recent visitor. As, however, on the following day, the vicar confessed that the key had not yet been discovered, Tregenna made up his mind to keep an eye on the church; and he regularly, for the next ten days, paid a visit to the spot before returning to the cutter after his call at the Parsonage. And on the tenth evening, just as he was entering the churchyard by the little wooden gate on the north side, he caught sight of a human head disappearing rapidly, apparently into the bowels of the earth, behind the east end of the church. Going rapidly and noiselessly in that direction, Tregenna reached the steps which led down to the vault, and saw that the door was open some inches. Descending cautiously, he could distinguish certain sounds within the vault, which betrayed the presence of live human beings; the mutterings and shufflings of feet grew louder, until he was able to distinguish the voice of Jack Price the smuggler, and another which he did not recognize. After the lapse of a few seconds they began to make such a noise, as they pushed certain heavy loads about, to the accompaniment of much scraping of the stone floor, that Tregenna ventured to open the door a little farther, and to peep in. A weird sight met his eyes. By the light of a torch, which smoked and flared, throwing a red light on the faces and figures of the men, and making a great patch of sooty blackness upon the green slime on the roof, Jack Price, long, lean, and woebegone of face, and Bill Plunder, short, crooked, and evil-looking, were busily engaged in piling up against the walls of the vault a huge quantity of kegs and bales of goods, in order to make them occupy the least possible space, and so make room for more. Tregenna, hardened as he was to the smugglers and their villainies, could scarcely believe his eyes. Not a sign of a coffin was to be seen. Apparently the dead had been turned out of their resting-place, to make way for the merchandise of the “free-traders.”