But felix culpa, had I not been summarily ejected from the Hall, I might never have found my way into this chamber where I feel so very strongly the presence of…

Whose spirit Madero felt the presence of Sam was saved from discovering.

At that moment the torch battery gave up its ghost and the light, already diminished to a pinprick, went out.

She screamed.

She didn’t want to but she knew no way not to.

Then she felt his arms being wrapped around her and he drew her close, almost on to his lap.

“It’s OK,” he murmured. “It’s OK. We’ll soon be out of here. There, there. Be calm. Be calm.”

He was talking to her like a child again, but she didn’t mind it. Like a child, what she wanted in this predicament was adult comfort and reassurance.

Madero, on the other hand, as he hugged her close and felt the warmth of that lithe body reach him through the thin cloth of her skimpy T-shirt, found to his dismay that, however his eyes might have deceived him as to her age, after a few moments his own frail flesh was telling him he had a real live woman in his arms. He tried to twist away to conceal his arousal but if anything the movement only drew attention to it. He sent his mind in search of all the antaphrodisiac stratagems he’d developed in the seminary only to discover that, effective though they’d once been against the fancy’s images, they had no potency against the physical reality.

“I’m sorry,” he began to say, but Sam interrupted him.

“Listen!” she said.

He listened.

There was noise above them. A footfall. Then an exclamation.

With one accord they began to cry, “Help!”

It took another fifteen minutes for Edie Appledore to round up the three strong men necessary to raise the heavy table and release the entrance slab.

The three strong men in question turned out to be the Gowders and Thor Winander, whom she’d flagged down as they drove past from St. Ylf’s.

Pushed from behind by Mig and pulled from above by Winander, Sam scrambled out into the light of the kitchen which fell on her like a glorious dawn.

“Nice to see you again, Miss Flood,” boomed Thor. “Trying to find a shortcut home, were you?”

“Ignore him, dear,” said Mrs. Appledore. “Drink this. You look a bit shook up.”

She handed Sam a glass of brandy which she downed in one and did not resist when offered a refill.

The Gowders had propped the table up with cast-iron chairs brought in from the beer garden. Winander now offered his hand to Madero, who was standing with his head appearing through the gap in the kitchen floor.

“No. Thank you, all the same,” he said with a formality that set Sam, still light-headed with relief, giggling. “Mrs. Appledore, do you have such a thing as a flashlight?”

Shaking her head at the stupidity of men, the landlady found one. Winander took it from her but instead of handing it down, he dropped into the underground chamber himself, provoking more head-shaking from Mrs. Appledore. Now the two men vanished, presumably to continue the exploration which the collapse of the slab had interrupted.

The reason why the table had fallen back to the floor was clear.

There must have been some dry rot in the crossbeam and under the weight of the table one of the pulleys had pulled loose. The sudden extra pressure on the other had snapped the rope, allowing the table to fall back on the counterweight slabs, bringing the entry slab crashing down.

“So what’s been going on?” inquired Mrs. Appledore when she was satisfied that Sam had recovered sufficiently to be questioned.

Sam told her, finishing with an apology for her part in what had been effectively an act of trespass resulting in physical damage to the kitchen.

“Never mind that,” said the landlady. “All these years I’ve spent sitting over yon hole, never knowing a thing about it. God knows what’s down there. Could be anything!”

She shuddered at the thought, then her expression brightened.

“Or it could be valuable. Come on, you two! What have you found? And don’t forget, whatever it is must belong to me!”

“Is that so, Edie?” came Winander’s voice. “In that case, here’s a down payment.”

So saying, he reached his arm out of the aperture and placed a human skull and a couple of bones on the floor.

Mrs. Appledore let out a gasp of distaste without seeming too bothered by the grinning relic. Sam recalled Madero’s muttered prayer. He’d known all the time they were sharing that dark chamber with a skeleton. But, probably wisely, he’d said nothing.

His voice came from the ground now.

“I really think we should leave the remains in place,” he said sharply. “The police will want to look at them.”

There was an anger in his words which went beyond mere procedural objection.

“This is archaeology, not crime,” said Winander. “Let’s have a look at the stuff before the experts get their grubby little hands on it.”

The next thing to appear was a cross, about four feet in length. It seemed to have been bound round with sacking, the dusty remnants of which still clung to it. One of the Gowders picked it up and started to brush it off with his great red paw. As the detritus was cleared, the cross began to glow with the dullness of old gold and the brightness of polished gems. He set it down hastily, as though it were hot.

“Oh my God,” said Mrs. Appledore.

More items were handed out of the hole, some chalices, a pair of candlesticks, a chrismatory and a pyx – but, much to Sam’s relief, there were no more bones.

Finally the two men clambered out.

“Haven’t you done well, Edie?” said Winander. “If you can claim this lot, they’ll crown you Most Desirable Widow at the Skaddale Show. What do you think, Madero?”

Madero shrugged.

“I do not know the English law,” he said. “My guess is that this was the place where the monks of the Priory stored their treasures in time of need. A good spot, belonging to the Priory without actually being in the Priory. When word of the king’s men came, they must have decided the time had come to hide what they could. Not everything, because if they found the place stripped of all valuables, the destroyers wouldn’t have rested till they got someone to tell where they had gone. I’ve no doubt they found a cross in place. But not one like this.”

He regarded the jeweled crucifix with reverence.

“So who does it belong to?” said Winander. “The Church? Or finders keepers?”

“Ultimately it belongs to God,” said Madero. “But then so does everything. Miss Flood, are you all right?”

“Fit as a butcher’s dog,” said Sam, glaring at Madero and challenging him to make any further reference to her recent debility.

“Good. Perhaps you and I should clean up. We will need to make statements to the police.”

Sam looked at him in surprise. Perhaps it was a Spanish convention that you looked your best when communicating with the police. True, he was a bit dusty, but not too bad. If anything, the way he was holding his jacket tight around his body as if the chill of the nether chamber had struck into his bones, what he really needed was some of Mrs. Appledore’s brandy. But he was already at the door, where he paused.

“Mrs. Appledore, you’ll phone the authorities?”

The landlady glanced at Winander who shrugged and said, “He’s right. They like to know about bones, even ancient ones.”

“Right then,” said the woman.

Sam was now recovered sufficiently to glance down at her limbs. For some reason she seemed to have gathered twice as much dust as Madero. God knows what was in it!

She stood up and followed the Spaniard up the stairs.

As he opened the door of his room, she said, “Thanks.”

“For what, Miss Flood?”

“For helping me get through that. And what’s with this Miss Flood stuff? Or do you only use first names when you’ve got a girl up close and intimate?”