‘There was mair tramplin’ aboot than I had expected, what wi’ the galloway’s stumblin’, the tub ploughin’ alang through the dirt, an’ the footprints o’ the search-party that had come up ti the scene o’ the casualty; but for aal that, I could see here an’ there the marks o’ Tom’s big shoes, wi’ the extry broad plates at heel an’ toes he used ti wear.
‘Mevvies it wasn’t ower much ti see, but it heartened us up, for it conformed us i’ wor opinions, especially the fact that wherever they was visible they was close in by the wall-side, as if he had been wishful ti hide himself as far as might be—a sort o’ presumptuous evidence against him, as the lawyers call it.
‘“I will have ti gan back ti bed again,” I says ti myself, “ti think it aal oot properly, for though I haven’t a doot about it myself, I’ll have ti convince aal thae thick-heads o’ judges at my lord’s ’Size[9] before I gets him properly convicted, sae I must have it aal pieced oot an’ put together like a bairn’s puzzle-map.”
‘Well, we was slowly makin’ wor way oot o’ the passage when I hears something comin’ up-by, creak, creakin’ as it came. Weel, I’s no coward, I’s warn’d, an’ I’ll face any man livin’ that ye like ti mention, but I got a fair gliff at that, for I couldn’t make oot what it might mean—Nicholson an’ us bein’ the only folk aboot doon there. “Gox, it’s Jack’s ghost!” think I ti mysel iv a sudden sweat o’ fear. Sae oot at once I turns my davy (lamp), an’ the lad’s, fearin’ lest he might notice us, an’ shrinks back inti the corner o’ the wall as small as could be, with the lad tremblin’ aal ower next us. Efter a bit I sees a wee glimmer o’ light shakin’ i’ the darkness, then a shadow ov a man behind it, an’ slowly, vary slowly, as if seekin’ something, it mounts up the passage towards us.
‘“Hist!” says I ti the lad iv a thick whisper, “just smear your face an’ hands ower wi’ clarts, or the ghaist will cop us,” I says, an’ grabbin’ a handful I clarts his face an’ hands iv an instant o’ time; then I scrapes up a handful for mysel’ an’ aal, but i’ reachin’ oot for a good fill o’ clarts my hands struck up against a sort ov a heavy bar o’ some specie or other.
‘I gied a bit haul at it, an’ awa it comes up inti my hands—a small, heavy, but handy bit ov iron it was, mevvies about sixteen inches long, wiv a sort o’ knob at the end o’t.
‘“I’ll have a look at thoo later,” says I, an’ claps it inti my pocket wi’ the one hand, whiles I clarts my face wi’ the other. Meantime the creakin’ thing was drawin’ nigher an’ nigher tiv us, but the light wiv it was tarr’ble dim, an’ I couldn’t have given it a name.
‘On came the light an’ the shadow, but the creakin’ noise had stopped; ’stead o’ that there was a squelch, squelch, as ov a man steppin’ in an’ oot’ o’ mud.
‘It passed us biv a finger’s breadth, an’ I almost shouted aloud by way o’ relief, for it was a real live flesh-an’-blood man, wiv a fouled davy, an’ no ghost—for ghosts canna spit, I’s warn’d.
‘“D—— thoo!” I was just aboot ti shoot at him, comin’ flayin’ folk i’ that fashion. “Who is thoo, thoo ——” when he stops short on a sudden, just round the corner above us, an’ talks tiv himself oot loud. “Ay, it’ll be just aboot here,” he muttered, “that it fell,” and I could have let flee a yell o’ delight that would have brought a fall o’ stone doon, for it was no other voice than “Tom the Scholar’s” himsel’.