"Come on!" he cried with a low laugh. "All of you! All of you! Show
your faces--your infernal ugly faces! Don't skulk!"

He laughed again and walked on; and the heap in the fireplace put out his
head tortoise fashion and listened in horror to the retreating footsteps.
Not until they had become inaudible in the distance did the listeners'
features relax.

"Good Lord, Lester, we've driven him mad," he said in a frightened
whisper. "We must go after him."

There was no reply. Meagle sprung to his feet. "Do you hear?" he
cried. "Stop your fooling now; this is serious. White! Lester! Do you
hear?"

He bent and surveyed them in angry bewilderment. "All right," he said in
a trembling voice. "You won't frighten me, you know."

He turned away and walked with exaggerated carelessness in the direction
of the door. He even went outside and peeped through the crack, but the
sleepers did not stir. He glanced into the blackness behind, and then
came hastily into the room again.

He stood for a few seconds regarding them. The stillness in the house
was horrible; he could not even hear them breathe. With a sudden
resolution he snatched the candle from the mantelpiece and held the flame
to White's finger. Then as he reeled back stupefied the footsteps again
became audible.