"Here, sergeant, fetch one of those square bits of stone that lay by the other." Briggs stepped back, and returned with a curious-looking and roughly squared piece of stone, handing it to Denham for throwing down; but as he took it I checked him.
"Don't throw that," I said; "it has been chiselled out, and is curious.
It may show who the people were that did all this." "Humph! Maybe," said Denham.

"Take it back, Sergeant, and bring us another." Briggs went back and fetched another block.
"This here's the same, sir," he said, "and cut out deeper, as if to fit on something." "Yes, that's more perfect," I said.

"Throw the first one down." "Seems a pity," said Denham, looking first at one block and then the other.

"They are curious; why, they look as if some one had tried to chisel out a hand-barrow on a flat piece of stone." "Yes, sir," said Briggs gruffly, "or one o' them skates' eggs we used to find on the seashore at home in Mount's Bay." "Look here," I said, kicking at the flooring and loosening a shaley piece of stone about as big as my hand; "I'll throw this down." I pitched the piece into the darkness below, and we listened for it to strike, but listened in vain for a few seconds, and then: _Plosh_! "Water!" I cried.

"Why, we've found the well." "Hurrah!" cried Denham; "well done us!" and he stepped back to where I had kicked out the piece of broken stone, and was about to throw another piece down, when, as the light from above fell upon it, I snatched it from his hand.
"Don't do that," he cried angrily.