“
No, gimme that light. Yeah. Hell.” Crumley directed the beam up and around. “All outside hinges, no way to get to them.”
“Well,” Henry suggested, “I don’t suppose there’s more than one door to this place?”
Crumley flashed his light at Henry’s face.
“What’d I say?” said Henry.
Crumley took the flashlight off Henry’s face and moved past him, around the sarcophagus. He flashed the beam up and down the ceiling, the floor, then along the seams and around the small window in back, so small no more than a cat could slide through.
“I don’t suppose we can yell out the window?”
“Whoever came to answer I wouldn’t want,” observed Henry.
Crumley swung his flash, turning in circles.
“Another door,” he kept saying. “Must be!”
“Must!” I cried.
I felt the fierce watering in my eyes and the awful dryness in my throat. I imagined heavy footsteps rushing among the tombstones, shadows come to batter, shades running to smother, calling me Clarence, wishing me dead. I imagined the door burst wide and a ton of books, signed photos, signature cards, flooding to drown us.
“Crumley!” I grabbed the flash. “Give me that!”
There was only one last place to look. I peered into the sarcophagus. Then I peered closer and exhaled.
“Look!” I said. “Those,” I pointed. “God, I don’t know, hollows, indentations, slants, whatever. I never saw things like that in a tomb. And there, look, under the seam, isn’t there light coming from under? Well, hell! Wait!”
I leaped up on the rim of the sarcophagus, balanced and looked down at the even, measured forms at the bottom.
“Watch it!” cried Crumley.
“No, you!”
I dropped down onto the sarcophagus bottom.
There was a groan of oiled machinery. The room shook when some counterbalance shifted beneath.
I sank down as the sarcophagus floor sank. My feet melted in darkness. My legs followed. I was tilted at an angle when the lid stopped.
“Steps!” I cried. “Stairs!”
“What?” Henry groped down. “Yeah!”
The sarcophagus bottom, laid flat, had looked like a series of half-pyramids. Now that the lid angled, they were perfect steps into a lower tomb.
I took a quick step down. “Come on!”
“Come on?!” said Crumley. “What in hell’s down there?”
“What in hell’s out there!”I pointed at the slammed outer door.
“Damn!” Crumley leaped up to fetch Henry. Henry sprang up like a cat.
I stepped down a slow step, trembling, waving the flashlight. Henry and Crumley followed, cursing and blowing air.
Another flight of steps fused with the sarcophagus lid to lead us down another ten feet into a catacomb. When Crumley, last, stepped off, the lid whispered high, banged shut. I squinted at the shut ceiling and saw a counterweight suspended in half light. A huge iron ring hung from the bottom of the vanished staircase. From below, you could grab, use your weight, and yank the stairs down.