CHAPTER XXIIIThere were sixteen of them left—sixteen out of two hundred and fifty. No wonder the castle’s great hall was swimming with blood! No wonder we all looked like red Indians! “Who’s the senior ghoul among you?” I asked, and a white-haired robot encased by a yellow lumpy godhelpus moved forward a little. The Colonel hissed in my ear.
“Good gad. I know that man! That’s Sir Lawrence Hockling!”
“He’s also a monstrous, warty, holey creature, like a lump of wormy cheese.... Good afternoon, Sir Lawrence,” I said loudly. “I believe you’ve been looking for me. I’m Robert Hood of Manchester.”
“Ah yes, the Slasher.” The bugaboo that was Sir Lawrence nodded briefly. “It seems we have failed to annihilate you. No matter; others will.”
“No, Sir Lawrence, you fail to grasp the situation. You
