'"Hist!" says I ti the lad iv a thick whisper, "just smear your face an' hands ower wi' clarts, or the ghaist will cop us," I says, an' grabbin' a handful I clarts his face an' hands iv an instant o' time; then I scrapes up a handful for mysel' an' aal, but i' reachin' oot for a good fill o' clarts my hands struck up against a sort ov a heavy bar o' some specie or other. 'I gied a bit haul at it, an' awa it comes up inti my hands--a small, heavy, but handy bit ov iron it was, mevvies about sixteen inches long, wiv a sort o' knob at the end o't. '"I'll have a look at thoo later," says I, an' claps it inti my pocket wi' the one hand, whiles I clarts my face wi' the other. Meantime the creakin' thing was drawin' nigher an' nigher tiv us, but the light wiv it was tarr'ble dim, an' I couldn't have given it a name. 'On came the light an' the shadow, but the creakin' noise had stopped; 'stead o' that there was a squelch, squelch, as ov a man steppin' in an' oot' o' mud. 'It passed us biv a finger's breadth, an' I almost shouted aloud by way o' relief, for it was a real live flesh-an'-blood man, wiv a fouled davy, an' no ghost--for ghosts canna spit, I's warn'd. '"D---- thoo!" I was just aboot ti shoot at him, comin' flayin' folk i' that fashion. "Who is thoo, thoo ----" when he stops short on a sudden, just round the corner above us, an' talks tiv himself oot loud. "Ay, it'll be just aboot here," he muttered, "that it fell," and I could have let flee a yell o' delight that would have brought a fall o' stone doon, for it was no other voice than "Tom the Scholar's" himsel'. '"Thoo b----!" I says ti mysel', an' clenches my fist tight; "thoo b----! but I's copped thoo noo." '"Tell ti me noo, Annexo," continues Tom, usin' the same furrin' sort o' talk as he had ti the lad; "tell ti me noo where it lies--the weapon that freed my destined bride frae unlawful arms. I mun hev it back, for there's a d----d chap i' wor village that they call 'the Heckler,'" he gans on, the impittent scoondrel that he was, "a daft feller that's mad aboot dogs an' sic' like nonsense, but he has his suspicions, an' mevvies might be dangerous, for he has been questionin' my meejum, Nicholson, the driver lad. Speak then, Annexo, speak, my beauty. Where lies my trusty weapon? Speak louder," says he again, impatient like, "for I canna hear i' the darkness." 'Just on that instant I gets another inspiration i' my insides, an' wivvoot mair ado I whispers oot loud iv a fine, feminine, and superfluous voice: "Search ti the right hand a bit lower doon, canny man," says I, "an' thoo'll find what thoo is wantin'," an' I held oot my hand ready ti grasp his wi' when he stretched it oot. '"Aha!" says he, quite gratified like, "sae thoo has found a voice, has thoo?" 'It was nigh pitch darkness about us, for his davy had almost gane clean oot wi' the clogged wick, but I could feel his hands gropin' towards us, an' I says ti mysel', "Another foot, an' a murderer's copped!"