I wedged the metal into the seam between the carved stone and the one above it.

I leaned my weight into it, scraping my knuckles against the rough granite.

The stone budged slightly, a small shower of dry dirt falling from the gap.

“It’s moving,” I said.

I worked the knife deeper, prying with both hands until the stone shifted forward.

With a hard pull, I dragged the block out of its recess and let it fall into the mud.

Behind it, in a small, hollow cavity, lay a cylinder.

It was made of dull green PVC pipe, capped tightly at both ends with black rubber.

I reached in and pulled it out.

It was cool to the touch and remarkably dry.

“You found it,” Arthur whispered, his breath clouding in the flashlight’s beam.

I gripped the cylinder tightly against my chest.

“Let’s get back to the house,” I said.

We walked quickly, almost running through the dark as the rain began to fall in sheets.

By the time we stepped back into the mudroom, we were both shivering.