Without any endeavour to correct the literality of this opinion, Jasper surveys his companion—­covered from head to foot with old mortar, lime, and stone grit—­as though he, Jasper, were getting imbued with a romantic interest in his weird life.

‘Yours is a curious existence.’

Without furnishing the least clue to the question, whether he receives this as a compliment or as quite the reverse, Durdles gruffly answers:  ‘Yours is another.’

’Well! inasmuch as my lot is cast in the same old earthy, chilly, never-changing place, Yes.  But there is much more mystery and interest in your connection with the Cathedral than in mine.  Indeed, I am beginning to have some idea of asking you to take me on as a sort of student, or free ’prentice, under you, and to let me go about with you sometimes, and see some of these odd nooks in which you pass your days.’

The Stony One replies, in a general way, ’All right.  Everybody knows where to find Durdles, when he’s wanted.’  Which, if not strictly true, is approximately so, if taken to express that Durdles may always be found in a state of vagabondage somewhere.

‘What I dwell upon most,’ says Jasper, pursuing his subject of romantic interest, ’is the remarkable accuracy with which you would seem to find out where people are buried.—­What is the matter?  That bundle is in your way; let me hold it.’

Durdles has stopped and backed a little (Deputy, attentive to all his movements, immediately skirmishing into the road), and was looking about for some ledge or corner to place his bundle on, when thus relieved of it.

‘Just you give me my hammer out of that,’ says Durdles, ’and I’ll show you.’

Clink, clink.  And his hammer is handed him.

‘Now, lookee here.  You pitch your note, don’t you, Mr. Jasper?’

‘Yes.’

‘So I sound for mine.  I take my hammer, and I tap.’ (Here he strikes the pavement, and the attentive Deputy skirmishes at a rather wider range, as supposing that his head may be in requisition.) ’I tap, tap, tap.  Solid!  I go on tapping.  Solid still!  Tap again.  Holloa!  Hollow!  Tap again, persevering.  Solid in hollow!  Tap, tap, tap, to try it better.  Solid in hollow; and inside solid, hollow again!  There you are!  Old ’un crumbled away in stone coffin, in vault!’

‘Astonishing!’

‘I have even done this,’ says Durdles, drawing out his two-foot rule (Deputy meanwhile skirmishing nearer, as suspecting that Treasure may be about to be discovered, which may somehow lead to his own enrichment, and the delicious treat of the discoverers being hanged by the neck, on his evidence, until they are dead).  ’Say that hammer of mine’s a wall—­my work.  Two; four; and two is six,’ measuring on the pavement.  ’Six foot inside that wall is Mrs. Sapsea.’

‘Not really Mrs. Sapsea?’

’Say Mrs. Sapsea.  Her wall’s thicker, but say Mrs. Sapsea.  Durdles taps, that wall represented by that hammer, and says, after good sounding:  “Something betwixt us!” Sure enough, some rubbish has been left in that same six-foot space by Durdles’s men!’