_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.
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