"Hardly anyone comes out this way," said the caretaker, flipping through the keys on his ring. "Except, you know, the occasional bum. All the old graves are out here. I keep the grass trimmed, and that's about it."

"But I thought this girl had died just recently." The engraver paused beside him, looking over the delicately sculpted ivy and roses on the mausoleum door. "Took me a month to make this plaque for her resting place."

"Oh, she did. Tragic, that. The mausoleum's been here since the turn of the century, though. Ah," he said, and, holding out his large keyring, he unlocked the massive metal door.

The keyring struck the marble floor as soon as sunlight spilled into the mausoleum. He knelt to pick it up, his hand shaking.

"Good Lord," said the engraver, crossing himself. "There's.. there's a dead man!"

"It's that chauffeur of theirs. The one they've been looking for. His picture was in the papers." The caretaker stepped into the tiny room, scowling. "Looks like he's only been dead a day or so..."

The engraver, still in the doorway, took a step back. "Around him.. are those.. bones?"

The caretaker nodded. Moving past the body curled beside the coffin, he knelt, picking up an urn. "Must've been trapped. There's water in this urn, so he'd been catching the rainwater.. and.." He placed one hand on the lip of the open coffin, staring at the rows of deep clawmarks along its edge, the chipped and broken edges of the lid on the floor. Something within the box caught his attention, and he reached in, eliciting a gasp of disgust from the engraver. He lifted from the coffin a stuffed doll of a skeleton, smeared with dried gore. "Pried the coffin open.. had to eat something.."

"Dear God." The engraver edged into the doorway, appalled. "But if he had water and.. uh.. food, then how did he die?"

Sighing, the caretaker set down the urn, and began to gather up the white, picked-clean bones scattered around the floor. "Probably formaldehyde poisoning. The embalming fluid, you know? What a way to go. Here, help me get these back into the box, would you? Then we'll go and call a mortician about this unfortunate young man."