"She came right down the road ahead of me," she answered, in a weak voice, "and ran straight into the pool. When she was in, she grabbed the floating image of the moon, and she said: 'I've got you, at last, you comical villain!' And she laughed, and seemed to struggle with it, and she went down."
"That'd be her, all right," said the lamplighter.
"Ada mine, Ada mine," mourned Martindale.
Angel and The Seraph and I clutched hands, and looked shudderingly into Wumble Pool.
"That seemed to scare me like," went on the girl, "and I couldn't jump right in, but I just crept, a step at a time, fearing I'd step on the body."
"No danger," said The Seraph complacently, "there's no bottom."
"One thing is certain," pronounced the lamplighter, "this young 'ooman should have some hot spirits in her inside, and be wrapped in a warm blanket, afore she's starved with the cold."
First we walked all around Wumble Pool, and poked it with sticks, but there was no sign of the cobbler's wife. Then, slowly, we retraced our steps to the town, the two men supporting the dripping girl.
A lamp burned with a ruddy glow in the room behind the shop, where all the birds were sleeping. Martindale put his charge in a chair by the hearth, and made gin-and-beer hot for everybody. The Seraph kissed the girl, and she said that she was glad after all that she was safe out of Wumble Pool.
"What is your name, my dear?" questioned Martindale.