"Ho! ho! ho!" he ejaculated, pointing back to the neglected garden.
"I wonder what he means!" exclaimed Jack.
"Why, I believe he's an idiot!" I remarked.
"He has every appearance of one," declared my companion, who then
addressed him, with the same negative result.
Again the weird, repulsive youth pointed back to the garden, and,
laughing hideously, uttered some words in gibberish which were quite
unintelligible.
"If we remain here chattering, the constable will find us," I
remarked, so we all three went forth into the street, the ugly
hunchback walking at my side, quite tractable and quiet.
Presently, unable to gather a single intelligible sentence from him,
Jack and I resolved to leave him, and afterwards follow him and
ascertain where he lived.
Why had he pointed to the garden and laughed so hilariously? Had he
witnessed any of those nocturnal preparations--or interments?
At last, at the corner of Bishop's Road, we wished him farewell and
turned away. Then, at a respectable distance, we drew into a gateway
to watch. He remained standing where we had left him for some ten
minutes or so, until a constable slowly approached, and, halting,
began to chat to him.
Apparently he was a well-known figure, for we could hear the policeman
speaking, and could distinguish the poor fellow laughing that queer,
harsh, discordant laugh--the laugh of the idiot.