There was another shout.
“Plaace arn’t harnted, is it?” said a voice from the little crowd.
“Will somebody have the goodness to go for my set of the church keys,” said the rector with dignity. “You? Thank you, Mr Macey. You know where they hang.”
Macey went off at a quick pace; and, to fill up the time, the rector knocked with the top of his stick.
By this time the doctor had joined the group.
“It seems very strange,” he said. “The sexton must have gone up himself, nobody else had keys.”
“And there appears to be nothing to cause him to raise an alarm,” said the rector. “Surely the man has not been walking in his sleep.”
“Tchah!” cried the churchwarden; “not he, sir. Wean’t hardly walk a dozen steps, even when he’s awake. Why, hallo! what now?”
“Here he is! Here he is!” came excitedly from the crowd, as the sexton walked deliberately up with a lantern in one hand, a bunch of keys in the other.
“Mr Chakes,” said the rector sternly, “what is the meaning of this?”