caught fire, and he eagerly asked if the lights and the door worked
together.

"Yes, it's all one system," replied Symon. "It was all fitted up
for the day His Royal Highness deposited the thing here. You see,
it's locked up behind a glass case exactly as he left it."

A glance showed that the arrangements for guarding the treasure were
indeed as strong as they were simple. A single pane of glass cut off
one corner of the room, in an iron framework let into the rock walls
and the wooden roof above; there was now no possibility of reopening
the case without elaborate labor, except by breaking the glass,
which would probably arouse the night watchman who was always within
a few feet of it, even if he had fallen asleep. A close examination
would have showed many more ingenious safeguards; but the eye of the
Rev. Thomas Twyford, at least, was already riveted on what
interested him much more--the dull silver disk which shone in the
white light against a plain background of black velvet.

"St. Paul's Penny, said to commemorate the visit of St. Paul to
Britain, was probably preserved in this chapel until the eighth
century," Symon was saying in his clear but colorless voice. "In the
ninth century it is supposed to have been carried away by the
barbarians, and it reappears, after the conversion of the northern
Goths, in the possession of the royal family of Gothland. His Royal
Highness, the Duke of Gothland, retained it always in his own
private custody, and when he decided to exhibit it to the public,
placed it here with his own hand. It was immediately sealed up in
such a manner--"