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“‘You are on your way to Schwartzberg, I think,’ says the voice.

“‘On my way is right,’ says I, as confidently as I could. ‘And I count on getting there all safe and sound.’

“The party with the torch appeared to be tickled at this; for he began to chuckle.

“‘I’m very fortunate in meeting you,’ says he.

“‘Good,’ says I. ‘I always like to find people in luck. And now, if it’s no trouble, suppose you explain your reason for stopping me.’

“‘Of course,’ says he. ‘To be sure. I’ve a small favour to ask of you,’ he says. ‘If you’ll be so kind, I’ll have you carry this to young Mr. Campe.’

“And like that,” here Scanlon snapped his fingers, “the light went out, and I felt the party put something into my hand.

“‘No explanation will be needed,’ says the voice, if anything a little smoother than before.

“‘What I have given you will tell its own story.’

“Then I heard the pit-pit-pat of careful feet going back across the bridge. I waited for a little to see if there was to be anything further; but as there wasn’t I put the thing the stranger had given me into my pocket, and took up the journey once more. At the end of the bridge I looked up the river; there was a sort of mist lifting from the water, but high above this a battery of lights twinkled and blinked in the distance.