At last he spoke, and “Murder!” was the word he muttered.
“He runs fast for a murdered man,” I said, with a sneer.
“Who was it?” he said, gazing with a strange, fixed expression up the dark blown hill.
“A ghost,” I answered, with a reckless laugh. “The town is full of them to-night.”
He looked at me gloomily. I could have thought he shivered slightly.
“Do you know him?”
“He was my friend once. Stand out of my way. I’ve an errand on hand. My father’s had a seizure.”
“Had a—come, I’ll go see him.”
“You won’t. I won’t have you near him. Stand out of my way.”
“You’re a fool. Promptness is everything in such cases.”