"Goodnight," Dawes said.
"Goodnight."
He read Sally's copy of _Treasure Island_ for about half an hour. Then
he undressed, made himself comfortable on the sofa, snuggled under the
soft blanket that Mom had provided, and shut his eyes.
He reviewed the events of the day before dropping off to sleep. The
troublesome Sally. The strange dream world of Armagon. The visit to the
barber shop. The removal of Brundage's body. The conversations with the
townspeople. Dawes' suspicious attitude ...
Then sleep came.
* * * * *
He was flanked by marble pillars, thrusting towards a high-domed
ceiling.
The room stretched long and wide before him, the walls bedecked in
stunning purple draperies.
He whirled at the sound of footsteps, echoing stridently on the stone
floor. Someone was running towards him.
It was Sally, pigtails streaming out behind her, the small body wearing
a flowing white toga. She was shrieking, laughing as she skittered past
him, clutching a gleaming gold helmet.
He called out to her, but she was too busy outdistancing her pursuer. It
was Sheriff Coogan, puffing and huffing, the metal-and-gold cloth
uniform ludicrous on his lanky frame.
"Consarn kid!" he wheezed. "Gimme my hat!"
Mom was following him, her stout body regal in scarlet robes. "Sally!
You give Sir Coogan his helmet! You hear?"
"Mrs. Dawes!" Sol said.
"Why, Mr. Becker! How nice to see you again! Pa! _Pa!_ Look who's here!"
Willie Dawes appeared. _No!_ Sol thought. This was _King_ Dawes; nothing
else could explain the magnificence of his attire.
"Yes," Dawes said craftily. "So I see. Welcome to Armagon, Mr. Becker."
"Armagon?" Sol gaped. "Then this is the place you've been dreaming
about?"
"Yep," the King said. "And now _you're_ in it, too."
"Then I'm only dreaming!"
Charlie, the fat man, clumsy as ever in his robes of State, said: "So
_that's_ the snooper, eh?"
"Yep," Dawes chuckled. "Think you better round up the Knights."