kering out across the
horizon like signal-fires, or _something_! I've been watching them for
the past twenty minutes and they've got on my nerves. I'm goin' out to
investigate."

Borkins gave a little exclamation of alarm and put one trembling hand
over his face. Merriton suddenly registered the fact as being a symptom
of the state of nerves which Merriton Towers was likely to reduce one.
Then Borkins shambled across the room and laid a timid hand upon
Merriton's arm.

"For Gawd's sake sir--_don't_!" he murmured in a shaken voice. "Those
lights, sir--if you knew the story! If you values your life at any price
at all don't go out, sir, and investigate them. _Don't!_ You're a dead
man in the morning if you do."

"What's that?" Merriton swung round and looked into the weak, rather
watery, blue eyes of his butler. "What the devil do you mean, Borkins,
talkin' a lot of rot? What _are_ those flames, anyway? And why in
heaven's name shouldn't I go out and investigate 'em if I want to? Who's
to stop me?"

"I, your lordship--if I ever 'as any influence with 'uman nature!"
returned Borkins, vehemently. "The story's common knowledge, Sir Nigel,
sir. Them there flames is supernatural. Frozen flames the villagers
calls 'em, because they don't seem to give out no 'eat. That part of the
Fens in unin'abited and there isn't a soul in the whole village as would
venture anywhere near it after dark."

"Why?"

"Because they never comes back, that's why, sir!" said Borkins. "'Tisn't
any old wives' tale neither. There's been cases by the score. Only a
matter of six months ago one of the boys from the mill, who was somewhat
the worse for liquor, said he was a-goin' ter see who it was wot made them
flames light up by theirselves, and--he never came back. And that same
night another flame was added to the number!"

"Whew! Bit of a tall story that, Borkins!" Nevertheless a cold chill
crept over Merriton's bones and he gave a forced, mirthless laugh.

"As true as the gospel, Sir Nigel!" said Borkins, solemnly. "That's what
always 'appens. Every time any one ventures that way--well, they're
a-soundin' their own death-knell, so to speak, and you kin see the new
light appear. But there's never no trace of the person that ventured out
across the Fens at evening time. He, or she--a girl tried it once, Lord
save 'er!--vanishes off the face of the earth as clean as though they'd
never been born. Gawd alone knows what it is that lives there, or