Perhaps it was an hour later when he heard a voice shouting on the hillside below. Giles shouted back as loudly as he could. Slowly the shouts got nearer. He recognized the voice of Beverley's servant, Parry,
Ghost Stories
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who had become anxious about Giles's safety, and had set out to search for him. Beverley himself had not returned from the town. Giles was extremely grateful for this: he hated to trouble his friend. Parry led Giles safely back towards the house. Giles walked slowly and quietly, thankful to be rescued. But for some reason he was unwilling to tell Parry about the stranger in the mist. He explained that he had taken the wrong path. In less than an hour he was changing his wet clothes. At dinner, too, he kept quiet about it, simply telling Beverley that he had lost his way in the mist. `I suppose I took the wrong path,' he said, `and I found myself at the edge of a cliff.' `You had a very lucky escape,' said Beverley. `There have been some nasty accidents in these hills. A man was killed about four years ago. I believe he was found at the bottom of the same cliff. That was before I came here, of course.' He turned to his servant. `I'm sure you remember the accident, Parry,' he said. `Am I right? Was it the same place?' `It certainly was, sir,' said the servant. `It was a gentleman from London. They buried him in the churchyard here. I was working for Captain Trevor at that time. He let us all go to the burial. Mr Roberts buried him and prayed over the grave. It was all in the local newspaper. I kept the newspaper − it was the Caernarvon and District News. I'll fetch it if you like, sir.' `That's a good idea, Parry,' said his master. In a few minutes Parry returned with an old newspaper. Beverley read the report aloud: `Early on Wednesday morning the body of a young man was found at the bottom of the cliff at Adwy−yr−Eryon. A doctor examined the body and decided that the man had been dead for several hours. The unfortunate man was Mr John Stevenson, a young lawyer from London. Mr Stevenson had been on holiday in Wales, and he had been exploring our beautiful mountains and valleys. When he did not return to his hotel in the evening, Captain Trevor, a local man, bravely organized a search party. Unfortunately, the thick mist made their work more difficult. It appears that the dead man took the wrong path in the mist, and fell over the cliff, hitting the sharp rocks below. In the dead man's pocket was a copy of a very old, out−of−date map. It showed a long−disused path over the hill. Of course, as everyone in the district knows, the path was destroyed many years ago by the Great Landslide. That was a terrible disaster which carried away a large part of the hillside. The sad death of Mr Stevenson should be a warning to everyone. Never depend on an out−of−date map. A modern, accurate map of the district is available from the offices of this newspaper, price nine pence.'