"This'll do," he whispered. "Keep behind me. If it's a trick we shall do very well here—flank covered, play for Polly, and the attack with us."
"I don't want any more fighting," whimpered Kit. "I—I want mother."
Bolts groaned, somebody groaning with them.
"Who's there?" husked a ghostly voice.
"Friend," called the Parson.
CHAPTER LXXXII
BACK TO THE DOOR
I
The lock creaked; the door opened.
A face of yellow clay, bandaged about, peered forth.