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"You are a Portia," said Captain Acton. "Yep, I heard, but they ain't pirates, 'cause they didn't have no tattoo marks on 'em, er rings in their ears; but whoever they are they're up to no good. They're aimin' to hide somethin' somewheres, but jest what it is an' where they intend hidin' it there's no way of tellin'; so come on, let's get movin'." Billy looked his relief. "I don't think I'm quite as bad as I used to be," he said. "Why say, there was a time when you couldn't get me inside that grove. But lately I've been feelin' different about it. I don't s'pose there re'lly is such a thing as a ghost, is there?".
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"Anse!" she snorted. "Who's talkin' about Anse? It's Croaker I mean. Look here what that darlin' crow brought me jest a few minutes ago." Captain Acton repeated Mr Adams's statement. The old lady's face was slowly moulded into a mask that her friends would scarcely have recognised by the horror and terror that worked in her. "We'll see," said Billy and without another word turned to the dim pathway among the trees. The man with the brown wig peered with his head on one side at Mr Lawrence, as though Mr Short's toast conveyed a piece of news to him..
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