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Four
Theyhungonthewallofthedeeprunnel,orsatincorners,lookingunfriendly.Varneylookedlikeabullmightlook,ifthebullweretobeshaved,dehorned,coveredintattoos,andsufferedfromcompletedentalbreakdown.Also,hesnored.Theoillampnexttohisheadwasturneddownlow.Varneysleptonapileofrags,snoringandsnuffling,withthehiltofahomemadetwo-bladedswordonthegroundbesidehishand.
Ahandturneduptheoillamp.
Varneyhadthetwo-bladedswordinhishand,andhewasonhisfeetalmostbeforehiseyeswereopen.Heblinked,staredaroundhim.Therewasnoonethere:nothinghaddisturbedthepileofbunkbedsblockingthedoor.Hebegantolowerthesword.
Avoicesaid,"Psst."
"Hh?"saidVarney.
"Surprise,"saidMr.Croup,steppingintothelight.
Varneytookastepback:amistake.Therewasaknifeathistemple,thepointofthebladenexttohiseye."Furthermovementsarenotrecommended,"saidMr.Croup,helpfully."MisterVandemarmighthavealittleaccidentwithhisoldtoad-sticker.Mostaccidentsdooccurinthehome.Isthatnotso,MisterVandemar?"
"Idon’ttruststatistics,"saidMr.Vandemar’sblankvoice.AglovedhandreacheddownfrombehindVarney,crushedhissword,anddroppedthetwistedthingtothefloor.
