“He said he was Anton Hackman’s ghost,” Jimmy put in.
“And who, may I ask, is Anton Hackman?”
The screechy one let out his neck in surprise.
“Didn’t you ever hear of him?” he countered shrilly. “You know what a hermit is, don’t you? Well, he was a hermit and he lived right here in this cave. Yes, sir, mister, he did. That was years and years ago. Some people tell that he was murdered. Others say he just died of old age and was ate up by the wolves. Anyway, he disappeared.”
The killer, in continuation of his cat-like smile, plucked one of my few remaining rope strands.
“A not bad imitation of hair, at that,” he mused.
Bid Stricker flushed.
“Huh!” he grunted, humiliated in the thought of how cleverly I had fooled him.
“The actions of you boys,” the killer spoke up after a moment, “would suggest to me that you are not the warmest of friends.” [[218]]
“I should hope not,” Bid spit out, glaring at me. “We hate him.… Let us have him, mister,” he begged eagerly.