“But people are buried in there,” exclaimed the man of law with a show of horror which evidenced great reverence for the dead. “So much the better for my purpose,” I said, as I walked out of his office. “I’m off for my tomb.” The idea of using the Clark tomb, which I had previously noticed while walking through the cemetery, as a hiding place, had come to me while the lawyer was urgently renewing his advice to me to get under cover until the conclusion of the trial. The mausoleum was in an out-of-the-way corner of the dead city and I knew that if I could get inside of it I would be safe from intrusion. It was about twelve by sixteen feet in size and was closed with a solid iron door, but above it was a grating which would furnish plenty of ventilation. The landlord of the hotel where I was stopping had a delightful Dutch daughter, with whom I had become very friendly, and when I returned there after my talk with the lawyer, she informed me that two men had been around making guarded inquiries regarding a man answering my description. She took them for detectives, she said, and without knowing or suspecting why they were looking for me she had thrown them off the scent. This convinced me that there was a chase on, after all, and that it was getting so hot that I had no time to lose. With a blanket wrapped about the upper part of my body, and with the pockets of Nourse’s dirty old white overcoat stuffed with pilot bread, canned meats, candles, a dark lantern, and books, I went out to the cemetery that evening. I had some doubt about being able to get into the tomb but I succeeded in picking the lock with a piece of heavy wire and proceeded to take up my abode with the departed Clarks. There were three of them and from the sizes of the caskets I took them to be father, mother, and child. There was one unoccupied niche and in that I arranged my bed, with my blanket and Nourse’s overcoat.