The voices died away and William was left alone in a corner of the hen-house.
A white hen appeared in the little doorway, squawked at him angrily, and retired, cackling indignation. Visions of life-long penal servitude or hanging passed before William’s eyes. He’d rather be executed, really. He hoped they’d execute him.
Then he heard the fat lady bidding good-bye to the policeman. Then she came to the back garden evidently with a friend, and continued to pour forth her troubles.
“And he dashed past me, dear. Quite a small man, but with such an evil face.”
A black hen appeared in the little doorway, and with an angry squawk at William, returned to the back garden.
“I think you’re splendid, dear,” said the invisible friend. “How you had the courage.”
The white hen gave a sardonic scream.
“You’d better come in and rest, darling,” said the friend.
“I’d better,” said the fat lady in a plaintive, suffering voice. “I do feel very ... shaken....”
Their voices ceased, the door was closed, and all was still.