Upon the bridge, leaning over the wall, stood the figure of a man, bareheaded, with his hat in his hands.
He could not see his face, but something in his attitude struck Charles with a sudden chill.
"By -- --," he said, below his breath, plucking Ralph's arm, "there's mischief going on there!" Ralph did not hear, and in another moment Charles was thankful he had not done so.
The man raised himself a little, and the light fell full on his white desperate face.

He was feeling up and down the edge of the stone-parapet with his hands.

As he moved, Charles recognized him, and drew in his breath sharply.
"Who is that ?" said Ralph, his obtuser faculties perceiving the man for the first time.
Charles made no answer, but began to whistle loudly one of the tunes of the day.

He saw Dare give a guilty start, and, catching at the wall for support, lean heavily against it as he looked wildly down the road, where the shadow of the trees had so far served to screen the approach of Charles and Ralph, who now emerged into the light, or at least would have done so, if the moonlight had not been snatched away at that moment.
"Holloa, Dare!" said Ralph, cheerfully, through the darkness, "I saw you.

What are you up to standing on the bridge at midnight, with the clock striking the hour, and all that sort of thing; and what have you done with your hat--dropped it into the water ?" Dare muttered something unintelligible, and peered suspiciously through the darkness at Charles.
The moon made a feint at coming out again, which came to nothing, but which gave Charles a moment's glimpse of Dare's convulsed face.