I detached the lamp from its socket with all speed, and handed it to M'Cabe, who hurried back on our tracks. From motives of delicacy I remained on the car, as did also the rest of the party. A minute or two passed in awed silence, while the patch of light went to and fro on the dark road. It seemed an intrusion to offer assistance, and an uncertainty as to whether to allude to the loss as "them," or "it," made enquiries a difficulty. "For goodneth'ake have none o' ye any matcheth, that ye couldn't come and help me?" demanded the voice of M'Cabe, in indignation blurred pathetically by his gosling-like lisp. I went to his assistance, and refrained with an effort from suggesting the employment of that all-accomplished setter, the dentist's dog, in the search; it was not the moment for pleasantry. Not yet. We crept along, bent double, like gorillas; the long strips of broken stones yielded nothing, the long puddles between them were examined in vain. "What the dooth will I do to-morrow?" raged M'Cabe, pawing in the heather at the road's edge. "How can I plead when I haven't a blathted tooth in me head?" "I'll give you half a crown this minute, M'Cabe," said I brutally, "if you'll say 'Sessions'!" Here the Sergeant joined us, striking matches as he came. He worked his way into the sphere of the car-lamp, he was most painstaking and sympathetic, and his oblique allusions to the object of the search were a miracle of tact. "I see something white beyond you, Mr. M'Cabe,"' he said respectfully, "might that be them?" M'Cabe swung the lamp as indicated. "No, it might not. It's a pebble," he replied, with pardonable irascibility. Silence followed, and we worked our way up the hill. "What's that, sir?" ventured the Sergeant, with some excitement, stopping again and pointing. "I think I see the gleam of the gold!" "Ah, nonthenth, man! They're vulcanite!" snapped M'Cabe, more irascibly than ever. The word nonsense was a disastrous effort, and I withdrew into the darkness to enjoy it. "What colour might vulcanite be, sir?" murmured a voice beside me. Jerry had joined the search-party; he lighted, as he spoke, an inch of candle. On hearing my explanation he remarked that it was a bad chance, and at the same instant the inch of candle slipped from his fingers and fell into a puddle. "Divil mend ye for a candle! Have ye a match, sir? I haven't a one left!" As it happened, I had no matches, my only means of making a light being a patent tinder-box. "Have you a match there?" I called out to the invisible occupants of the car, which was about fifteen or twenty yards away, advancing towards it as I spoke. The constable politely jumped off and came to meet me. As he was in the act of handing me his match-box, the car drove away down the hill.