And now the voice was near the windows of the dining-room.

Penrod, very pale, pushed back his chair and jumped up.

"What's the matter with YOU?" his father demanded. "Sit down!"

"It's Herman--that coloured boy lives in the alley," Penrod said
hoarsely. "I expect--I think--"

"Well, what's the matter?"

"I think his little brother's maybe got lost, and Sam and I
better go help look--"

"You'll do nothing of the kind," Mr. Schofield said sharply. "Sit
down and eat your dinner."

In a palsy, the miserable boy resumed his seat. He and Sam
exchanged a single dumb glance; then the eyes of both swung
fearfully to Margaret. Her appearance was one of sprightly
content, and, from a certain point of view, nothing could have
been more alarming. If she had opened her closet door without
discovering Verman, that must have been because Verman was dead
and Margaret had failed to notice the body. (Such were the
thoughts of Penrod and Sam.) But she might not have opened the
closet door. And whether she had or not, Verman must still be
there, alive or dead, for if he had escaped he would have gone
home, and their ears would not be ringing with the sinister and
melancholy cry that now came from the distance, "Oo-o-oh,
Ver-er-ma-an!"