"Thank Gawd for that, sir!" he said, solemnly. "You've relieved my
mind on that score. I've always thought--your poor uncle, Sir Joseph
Merriton--and those flames there might 'ave been the reason for his
disappearance, though of course--"
"What's that?" Merriton turned round and looked at him, his brow
furrowed, the whole personality of the man suddenly awake. "My uncle,
Borkins? How long have these--er--lights been seen hereabouts? I don't
remember them as a child."
"Oh, mostly always, I believe, sir; though they ain't been much noticed
before the last four years," replied Borkins. "I think--yes--come August
next. Four years--was the first time my attention was called to 'em."
Merriton's laugh held a note of relief.
"Then you needn't have worried. My uncle has been missing for a little
more than _five_ years, and that, therefore, when he did disappear the
flames obviously had nothing to do with it!"
Borkins's wrinkled, parchment-like cheeks went a dull, unhealthy red. He
opened his mouth to speak and then drew back again.
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