“Let us follow,” said he, not waiting to give me any explanations. And keeping as closely to him as I could lest we should lose each other in the fog, I stumbled along a path worn in the stubbly grass, not knowing where I was going and unable to see anything to right or left or even in front but the dancing, hazy glow of the swinging lantern.
Suddenly that glow was completely extinguished; but before I could speak Clarke had me by the arm.
“Step aside,” he whispered. “The man is coming back; he has left Mr. Edgar to go on alone.”
And then I heard a hollow sound as of steps on an echoing board.
“That must be a bridge Mr. Edgar is crossing,” whispered Clarke. “But see! he is doing it without light. The man has the lantern.”
“Where is your lantern?” I asked.
“Under my coat.”
We held our breath. The man came slowly on, picking his way and mumbling to himself rather cheerfully than otherwise. I was on the point of accosting him when Clarke stopped me and, as soon as the man had gone by, drew me back into the path, whispering:
“The steps on the bridge have stopped. Let us hurry.”
Next minute he had plucked out his lantern from under his coat and we were pressing on, led now by the sound of rushing water.