"Quick, Willem!" supplemented Peter Grimm.
Kathrien, acting on an unexplained impulse as Willem stared terror-stricken at the door, hastened toward the vestibule.
"No! No!" shrieked the boy in anguished falsetto as he divined what she was about to do. "Please, please don't! Don't! Don't let him in. I'm afraid of him. He made Anne Marie cry."
But Kathrien's hand was already at the latch. She threw the outer door wide open. Frederik Grimm stood on the threshold, his head still a little forward. His ear had evidently been pressed close to the panel.
"You're sure Frederik's the man?" almost shouted McPherson.
"I won't tell! I won't tell! I won't tell!" screamed the boy, taking one look at Frederik, then tearing loose from McPherson's restraining hand and dashing up the stairs.
"I must go to bed now," sobbed Willem from the gallery above. "He told me to."
He ran into his own room and shut the door quickly behind him.
"You're a good boy, Willem!" Peter Grimm called approvingly after him.
The cloud of grief was gone from the Dead Man's face, leaving it wondrously bright and young. With no trace of anxiety, he turned to witness the consummation of his labours.