“I am doing so.”
“Done, sir. Now, come out of the place.”
He moved away with his light, and Vendale followed with his. When Vendale came up with him, and they were going back together, Vendale, eyeing him as they walked through the arches, said: “Well, Joey? The colour.”
“Is it like clotted blood, Master George?”
“Like enough, perhaps.”
“More than enough, I think,” muttered Joey Ladle, shaking his head solemnly.
“Well, say it is like; say it is exactly like. What then?”
“Master George, they do say—”
“Who?”
“How should I know who?” rejoined the Cellarman, apparently much exasperated by the unreasonable nature of the question. “Them! Them as says pretty well everything, you know. How should I know who They are, if you don’t?”