“My God!” observed Pendleton.
“It’s jolly well begun to clot.”
“Look out, you chaps, you’ll mire yourselves.”
“Show us the place, Bannerlee.”
My torch exposed a patch of darkened grass only a foot or so each way. There was nothing else about nearby.
Pendleton, half aghast, kneeled on the edge of the patch and studied it.
“A lot of blood’s been spilled here. It must have soaked down, a goodish bit of it, but there’s quite a pool about the grass roots. This spot will have to be guarded to-night. Pity we’ve tramped about.”
A thick voice lifted in excitement from the north of us.
“Oh, Mister Crofts, sir, do come here.”
“What is it, Tenney? Let it stay, whatever it is.”