’I don’t like the looks of the cloud,’ said Charles. ’There will be rain before long, and there’s thunder aloft for certain.’ ’What is that to you? Are you afraid of a shower? You have your cloak. Bring out the lantern. It matters not who sees the light now. If anyone does see it, he’ll say it’s a corpse-candle on its travels.’ ’What is a corpse-candle?’ ’Don’t you know?’ She gave a short, dry laugh. ’It’s a light that travels by night along a road, and comes to the door of the house out of which a corpse will be brought in a day or two.’ ’Does no one carry the candle?’ ’It travels by itself.’ Then she said, ’Give me the light.’ ’I will not let it out of my hand,’ answered Charles, looking about him timorously. ’I don’t think anyone will see the light, down in this hole.’ ’Hold the lantern where I show you—there.’ He did as required. It gave a poor, sickly light, but sufficient to show where the woman wanted to work. She began to scratch away the earth with her hands, and Charles, watching her, thought she worked as a rabbit or hare might with its front paws. Presently she said: ’There is the hole, look in.’ He saw a dark opening, but had no desire to peer into it. Indeed, he drew back. ’How can I see, if you take away the lantern?’ asked Mrs. Veale. ’Put your arm in and you will find the hand.’ He drew still further away. ’I will not. I have seen enough. I know of this hiding-place. That suffices. I will go home.’ The horror came over him lest she should force him to put his hand into the stone coffin, and that there, in the blackness and mystery of the Interior, the dead hand of the murderer would make a leap and clasp his. ’I have had enough of this,’ he said, and a shiver ran through him, ’I will go home. Curse me! I’m not going to be mixed up with all this devilry and witchery if I can help it.’ ’Perhaps the hand is gone,’ said Mrs. Veale. ’Oh! I hope so.’ ’I sent it after your finger.’ ’Indeed, may it be long on its travels.’ He was reassured. It was not pleasant to think of so close proximity to the murderer’s embalmed, still active hand. He suspected that Mrs. Veale was attempting to wriggle out of her undertaking. ’Indeed—I thought I was to see the hand, and now the hand is not here.’ ’I cannot say. Anyhow, the money is here.’ ’What money?’ ’That for which you asked.’ ’I asked for none.’ ’You desired a hundred pounds for the purpose of getting back Coombe Park. Put in your hand and take it.’ ’I will not.’ His courage was returning, as he thought he saw evasion of her promise in the woman. ’For the matter of that, if this Hand of Glory can fetch money, it might as well fetch more than that.’ ’How much?’ ’A hundred is not over much. Two hundred—a thousand.’ ’Say a thousand.’ ’So I do.’ ’Put in your hand. It is there.’ ’Hark!’ ’Put in your hand.’ ’I will not.’