For, as they stopped and glanced back, there was a sudden blaze of light from some fifty yards below them, as if the fire had fallen together and flashed up.
“I thought we couldn’t be far away,” continued Oliver.
“Look, look, sir,” whispered Wriggs, stopping short, and catching the young man’s arm.
“What at? The fire? Yes, I see it.”
“No, sir, close to it. There, it’s a-moving. Tommy Smith’s ghost.”
“Ahoy, ghost!” shouted Oliver, as he caught sight of the figure.
“Ahoy it is, sir,” came in stentorian tones. “Seen anything o’ poor Billy Wriggs, sir? He’s wanished.”
“Mussy on me, Tommy,” shouted Wriggs, running forward to grasp his comrade’s hand, “I thought you was a dead ’un.”
“Not so bad as that, messmet,” said Smith shaking hands heartily, “but I had a nasty tumble down into a sort o’ crack place, and it reg’lar stunned me for a bit, and when I come back you was gone.”
“But did you hear ’em?” said Wriggs, in a husky whisper.