Where in hell was Geoff?
Had they slipped in and abducted him, right out from beneath our noses? Hardly. The doors and windows were still bolted.
Had he left of his own free will? And if so, how? And why?
"The place is haunted," Alec had said somberly at dinner; and in my heart I half agreed with him.
That night we had renewed our barricades at the head of the stairs, and kept our watches as before. About six in the morning I was starting to tear down the lumber once more when a hand was laid on my arm, and the Colonel, his face gray and drawn, said, "Leave 'em, boy."
"Why?"
"Come and look out the window. They've gathered. There must be two hundred if there's a one. We can't hold that great hall against them when they come. We've got to make a stand up here."
It was true. The groves and the unkempt lawns swarmed with them, their loathsome bodies all gay and shining in the sunlight.
"Still clerks and shopkeepers?" I asked.
"No, this is a rather less appetizing lot. More like the mugs you were always spying on in pubs," said Alec. "They look—well, pretty competent."