As we left the steam-engine part behind, the solitary stillness of our district seemed to be more evident; and though we passed one policeman, I could not help thinking how very little help we should be able to find in a case of great emergency.
Uncle Jack had chatted away freely enough as we went on; but as we drew nearer to the works he became more and more silent, and when we had reached the lane he had not spoken for fully ten minutes.
Eleven o’clock was striking and all seemed very still. Not a light was visible on that side, and the neighbouring works were apparently quite empty as we stood and listened.
“Let’s walk along by the side of the dam, Cob,” said Uncle Jack. “I don’t suppose we shall see anything, but let’s have a look how the place seems by night.”
I followed close behind him, and we passed under the one gas lamp that showed the danger of the path to anyone going along; for in the darkness there was nothing to prevent a person from walking right into the black dam, which looked quite beautiful and countrified now, spangled all over, as it was, with the reflections of the stars.
I was going to speak, but Uncle Jack raised his hand for me to be silent, and I crept closer to him, wondering what reason he had for stopping me; and then he turned and caught my arm, for we had reached the end of the dam where it communicated with the river.
Just then two men approached, and one said to the other:
“Tell ’ee, they changes every night. Sometimes it’s one and the boy, sometimes two on ’em together. The boy was there last night, and— Hullo! ’Night, mate!”
“’Night!” growled Uncle Jack in an assumed voice as he slouched down and gave me a shake. “Coom on, wilt ta!” he said hoarsely; and I followed him without a word.
“I tried it, Cob,” he whispered as we listened to the retreating steps of the men. “I don’t think they knew us in the dark.”