“Been in these ’ere parts long, Mr. Borkins?” he queried as they all sat at supper, and he himself munched bread and butter and fish paste with a vigour that was lacking in only one quality—­manners.

Borkins sniffed, and passed up his cup to the housekeeper.

“Before you were born, I dessay,” he responded tartly.

“Is that so, Methuselah?” Dollops gave a little boyish giggle at sight of the butler’s face.  “Well, seein’ as I’m gettin’ along in life, you must be a good way parst the meridian, if yer don’t mind my sayin’ so....  Funny thing, on the way down I run across a chap wot’s visitin’ pals in this ’ere village, and ’e pulls me the strangest yarn as ever a body ’eard.  Summink to do wiv flames it were—­Frozen Flames or icicles or frost of some kind.  But ’e was so full up of mystery that there weren’t no gettin’ nuffin out er’ im.  Any one ’ere tell me the story?  ’E fair got me curiosity fired, ’e did!”

A glance laden with sinister meaning flew around the table.  Borkins cleared his throat as every eye fastened itself upon him, and he swelled visibly beneath his brass-buttoned waistcoat.

“If you’re any wiser than you look, young man, you’ll leave well alone, and not go stickin’ your fingers in other peoples’ pie!” he gave out sententiously.  “Yes, there is a story—­and a very unpleasant one, too.  If you use your eyes to-night and look out of the smoking-room window as dusk comes on, you’ll see the Frozen Flame for yerself, and won’t want to be arskin’ me any fool questions about it.  One of the servants ’ere—­and a rude, unmannerly London creetur ’e was too!—­disappeared a while ago, goin’ out across the Fens after night-time when ’e was warned not to.  Never seen a sight of ‘im since—­though I’m not mournin’ any, as you kin see!”

“Go on!” Dollops’ voice expressed incredulity, amazement, and an awed interest that rather flattered the butler.

“True as I’m sittin’ ’ere!” he responded grimly.  “And before that a friend of Sir Nigel’s—­a fine, big upstandin’ man ’e were, name of Wynne—­went the same way.  Got a little the worse for drink and laughed at the story.  Said ’e’d go out and investigate for ’imself.  ’E never come back from that day to this!”

“Gawd’s truf!  ’Ow orful!  You won’t find yer ’umble a ‘ankerin’ after the fresh air come night-time!” broke in Dollops with a little shiver of terror that was remarkably real.  “I’ll keep to me downy thank you, an’ as you say, Mr. Borkins, leave well enough alone.  You’re a wise gentleman, you are!”

Borkins, flattered, still further expanded.

“I won’t say as all you cockney chaps are the same as Collins,” he returned magnanimously, “for it takes all kinds ter make a world.  If you feels inclined some time, I’ll walk you down to the Pig and Whistle and you shall ’ave a word or two with a chap I know.  ’E’ll tell yer somethink that’ll make your ’air stand on end.  You jist trot along ter me when you’re free, and we’ll take a little stroll together.”