Chapter 9

If Mr. Eha had been a real ghost, he could have flitted from Lakeside down to Stony Point and scared Mr. Camphor and Bannister into roaring fits before Freddy had finished exploring the suitcase. But being just a man wrapped up in a sheet and wearing a false face, he had to go pretty slowly along the narrow trail. Freddy overtook him just as he came within sight of the campfire and stopped behind a tree to look over the ground.

Freddy stopped too. The fire had died down to a bed of coals, and Mr. Camphor, who of course had had nothing to eat all day, was mixing flapjacks with the flour Bannister had brought in the canoe. He put a spoonful of batter in the frying pan and held it over the coals, just as Mr. Eha moved out from his tree.

Bannister was sitting on a log a little back from the fire, and when he caught sight of that ghastly figure, he didn’t make a sound, he just fell backwards off the log and lay there with his hands over his face.

Mr. Camphor saw the movement from the corner of his eye. “Tired?” he asked, and flipped the pancake and caught it neatly. “Why don’t you spread out a blanket and take a nap?”

Bannister didn’t reply. Mr. Camphor waited till the flapjack was done, slid it onto a plate, and spooned more batter into the pan. Then as he looked around to see why the butler didn’t answer, he saw the ghost.

“Wow!” he shouted, and jumped up. But he kept hold of the frying pan, though it shook in his hand. He wasn’t so much scared as startled, for he knew this time that there was a man behind the mask.

“Ha!” he said. “A denizen of the underworld! A what-you-may-call-em from the deep dark forest. Approach, what-you-may-call-em, and give me your message.” He turned towards Bannister. “Hey, Banni … that is, Dr. Hopper, we’ve got company.”

Mr. Eha had no intention of coming closer to the light of the fire. He was probably pretty disappointed at the failure of his scheme. Crouching behind his bush, Freddy tried hard not to giggle. “This Eha,” he thought, “isn’t very bright. I suppose he figured they’d just dash for the canoe and paddle off.”

But Mr. Eha stood his ground. There wasn’t much else he could do. If he tried to run, in that sheet, with a heavy mask over his head, they’d catch him in ten seconds. He began to fumble under the sheet—and Freddy got ready to jump out. Mr. Eha probably had a gun.

But he didn’t produce a gun. He took a step forward, and said in a sharp whisper: “Beware, rash mortal! The powers of darkness are all around you. Hark, do you not hear them muttering together? Begone, ere worse befall you.”

“Very fancy language,” said Mr. Camphor. “And as nothing has befell yet, why not sit down and have a flapjack with us?”

“Needs must when the devil drives,” came a shaky voice from behind the log.

“Ha, do you think so, Doctor?” Mr. Camphor said. “We’ll look into that one.” He got up and walked slowly towards Mr. Eha, shaking the frying pan a little to loosen the half-cooked flapjack. “Come along, try these,” he said. “I assure you they’re very good.” And then suddenly with an overhand flip of his arm, he threw the flapjack—plop!—straight into the demon’s face.

He threw the flapjack—plop!—straight into the demon’s face.

Now the under side of the flapjack was toasted a light brown, but the upper side was still uncooked, and it plastered the eyes and nose of the mask with sticky wet dough. Mr. Eha gave a muffled growl and clawed at the dough and then Mr. Camphor threw himself on him, and Bannister rose from behind the log and brought him to the ground with a remarkable flying tackle.

“First down for our side,” Mr. Camphor panted, as the sheeted figure struggled desperately to get away.

“Give the devil his due, sir,” said Bannister. “And I’ll hold his legs while you do it.”

“I know a better one,” Mr. Camphor gasped. “The devil’s not as black as he’s painted. We’ll have a look and see. Wait till I get … mask off.”

There was plenty of fight in Mr. Eha, but he couldn’t get it out—he was wrapped too tightly in the sheet. Mr. Camphor got a hand free and ripped off the false face but under it was a black mask, with eyeholes, that fitted over Eha’s forehead and eyes and nose. And before Mr. Camphor could get that off, Freddy appeared.

Now Freddy had forgotten that he still wore the false face that he’d found in the suitcase, and he didn’t at all realize what he looked like when he came tearing out to the rescue. Mr. Camphor had been prepared for a man disguised as a ghost. But when he and Bannister looked up and saw this undersized creature with the head of a gorilla rushing apparently to attack them, it is not surprising that they jumped up and backed away in terror. And then before Freddy could figure out what was the matter and take the false face off, Mr. Eha had scrambled to his feet, and the last they saw of him that night was the flicker of a flashlight and a vanishing flutter of white down the trail that led to Lakeside.