"Just think, Cecil!" he simpered. "Another war! We'd be in great demand as spies! Do you think it's too much to hope for?"
Cecil shook his head. "Certainly not. Now that I stop to think about it, if this bomb doesn't do it, the one tomorrow night is sure to."
"Let's fire the bomb!" Gerald cried. "Right now!"
But Cecil hung back for a moment. "What's happened to that traitorous spook?" he asked.
Gerald shrugged. "Dematerialized so we couldn't tell him to his face what we think of him. He's drifting about somewhere. Anyway, forget about him. Let's launch the bomb."
The two hurried off to the catapult. There, they argued briefly about which of them would officiate at the switch, but finally Cecil won the honor by drawing his gun on his brother. He stepped up to the switch and took hold of it. A thick silence of mixed expectancy took the old house.
"No ... no ..." Marc whispered, then watched with haunted eyes as Cecil's hand brought the switch suddenly downward.
There was a loud hissing sound and then an indistinguishable flash as the bomb shot up the track and out into the night. After that the silence returned, but with a new quality now. After a long interval, Marc and Toffee started in their chairs as a distant rumble echoed back from the night.
Marc closed his eyes and waited for the old house to stop trembling....