“Not much use hunting along here,” muttered one man to another; “here’s a hundred places where he could hide till we got by.”
“Remember that poor chap we found just here, Joe?” said one man, evidently quite at home in the place—a rough fellow in a Guernsey shirt and high boots, and wearing a hair-mask.
“Ah,” said another, “well.”
“What was that?” said the quiet man, who was also here.
“Chap we found all along here,” said the other, “and brought him out in a basket.”
“Basket?” said the quiet man.
“Ah!” said the other; “bones lying all along here; trod on ’em as you went—picked clean.”
“Pooh, nonsense!” said the quiet man, who had not shuddered before for at least ten years.
“Right enough,” said the other sulkily; “rats!”
“Here, let’s get out,” said the quiet man, “we are doing no good;” and he made the light of his bull’s-eye lantern play along the surface of the water to where he could just see a little head above the stream as its owner swam rapidly away, leaving an ever-widening track behind. “Let’s get out; it’s no use to go splashing along here; if he isn’t drowned, all we can do is to wait for him.”