"So do I," said Revel. "Lots of 'em, confound 'em."
"Now, this takes Martha's story, and it's quite true."
"They always are," said Martha. "I've noticed that before."
"Never mind, I'll forgive you. But this happened to me. Since you are talking tombs, I'll assist at the séance. It was in '82 or '83, I have forgotten which. Anyhow, it was when I was on the Utamamula Canal Headworks, and I was chumming with a man called Stovey. You've never met him because he belongs to the Bombay side, and if he isn't really dead by this he ought to be somewhere there now. He was a pukka sweep, and I hated him. We divided the Canal bungalow between us, and we kept strictly to our own side of the buildings."
"Hold on! I call. What was Stovey to look at?" said Revel.
"Living picture of the King of Spades—a blackish, greasy sort of ruffian who hadn't any pretence of manners or form. He used to dine in the kit he had been messing about the Canal in all day, and I don't believe he ever washed. He had the embankments to look after, and I was in charge of the headworks, but he was always contriving to fall foul of me if he possibly could."
"I know that sort of man. Mullane of Ghoridasah's built that way."
"Don't know Mullane, but Stovey was a sweep. Canal work isn't exactly cheering, and it doesn't take you into much society. We were like a couple of rats in a burrow, grubbing and scooping all day and turning in at night into the barn of a bungalow. Well, this man Stovey didn't get fever. He was so coated with dirt that I don't believe the fever could have got at him. He just began to go mad."
"Cheerful! What were the symptoms?"