******
“SPEAK!” A LOUD AND
VIBRANT VOICE CALLED
SUDDENLY. “SPEAK! GIVE
ME YOUR MESSAGE!”
The midnight feast was in full swing. Henry had forgotten to bring the candles, Douglas was half asleep, Ginger was racked by gnawing internal pains as the result of the feast of the night before, and William was distrait, but otherwise all was well.
Someone had (rather misguidedly) given William a camera the day before and his thoughts were full of it. He had taken six snapshots and was going to develop them to-morrow. He had sold his bow and arrows to a class-mate to buy the necessary chemicals. As he munched the apples and cheesecakes and chocolate cream and pickled onions and currants provided for the feast he was in imagination developing and fixing his snapshots. He’d never done it before. He thought he’d enjoy it. It would be so jolly and messy—watery stuff to slosh about in little basins and that kind of thing.
Suddenly, as they munched and lazily discussed the rival merits of catapults and bows and arrows (Ginger had just swopped his bow and arrows for a catapult), there came through the silent empty house the sound of the opening of the front door. The Outlaws stared at each other with crumby mouths wide open—steps were now ascending the front stairs.
“Speak!” called suddenly a loud and vibrant voice from the middle of the stairs, which made the Outlaws start almost out of their skins. “Speak! Give me your message.”
The hair of the Outlaws stood on end.
“A ghost!” whispered Henry with chattering teeth.
“Criky!” said William, “let’s get out.”