But Jerry, who had let go their hands to step nearer the Residency as if he saw something, stopped suddenly and pointed.
'Mr. Waymond,' he said, in a loud voice, 'who's that?'
'Who's who?'
'Him!'--
The child stood pointing into the shadows, his eyes wide, his whole face expectant.
Jack Raymond caught him up by the arms with a laugh, and swung him up to his shoulder. 'Don't be creepy, old man!--there's no one there,' he said, as he turned back to the club.
But Jerry was insistent. He had seen some one, he protested; and brought in a long tale of what Budlu knew, and every one knew, including his syce and his chuprassi, to prove that he had. Why! Budlu himself had seen the ghost several days, and it meant something just 'orful bad, for there didn't use to be no ghosts in the Mound except Jân-Ali-shân.'
'I wouldn't let him talk so much to Budlu and that lot, if I were you,' said Jack Raymond, aside to Lesley; 'he takes it too hard, dear little chap.'
'I can't prevent it,' retorted Lesley rather resentfully. 'You see he has to go out and come in through the Mound, and then he is such a favourite. The natives simply worship him. I can't think why.'
Jack Raymond glanced at the sturdy little figure which was now tackling roast turkey and ham in blissful forgetfulness of ghosts.