The knock on the door rang again.

The clever ghost walked to the window and poked his head out in a trembling voice. There was no need to tell them who it was, his pale face was enough.

In the blink of an eye, the dog became alert and ran towards the door with a wailing.

"We're going to have to let him in." The Clever Ghost said, holding up the candle.

"I can't think of any other way?" He asked hoarsely.

"There's no way but to let him in."

"Don't leave us in the dark room." The Clever Ghost said as he removed a candle from the mantelpiece, and by the time he lit it with trembling hands, there had already been two more knocks on the door.

The clever ghost went downstairs and opened the door, and when he returned, he was followed by a man who wrapped the lower half of his face with a handkerchief, and the other with a hat on his head. He slowly untied his handkerchief. The pale face, the deep-seated eyes, the sunken cheeks, the beard that hadn't been shaved for a week, the thin figure, the rapid breathing: this is simply the ghost of a fat man.

He reached out and grasped a chair in the middle of the room, and was about to sit down, when suddenly he shuddered, and as if he wanted to look back, he dragged the chair to the base of the wall—too close to get any closer—against the wall, and sat down.

No one says a word. He didn't say a word, and looked at them one by one. Even if someone's gaze secretly lifted up and met his gaze, they immediately turned to the side. They were startled when the silence broke with the sound of his urn, as if they had never heard him before.

"How did the dogs get here?" He asked.

"I've been here for three hours."

"The old camel was arrested. Is this really the case or is it a lie? ”

"Really."

They fell silent again.

"To hell with me," Fat Zhang said as he raised his hand and wiped his forehead. "You don't have anything to tell me?"

The three of them moved uneasily, and none of them spoke.

"This house is yours," said the fat man, turning his eyelids and turning to the clever ghost, "Are you going to betray me, or will you let me live here and wait for this manhunt to pass?" ”

"You'll stay, if you think it's safe." The person who was asked hesitated for a moment and replied.

Zhang Fatzi slowly raised his eyes and looked at the wall behind him, mainly to try to turn his head, not really wanting to do this. He continued: "Corpse - corpse - is the corpse buried?" ”

The three of them shook their heads.

"Why haven't you buried it yet?" He blurted out, glancing behind him again as he had done before. "What do you do with such an ugly thing on the ground? - Who's knocking on the door? ”

The clever ghost gestured, meaning that there was nothing to be afraid of, and then left the room, and then led the three fats back.

Zhang Fatzi was sitting facing the door, and as soon as the young man entered the room, he saw him.

Zhang Fatzi turned his gaze to him, and the young man stepped back and said, "Why didn't you tell me downstairs?" ”

The three men were so frightened to look at them that the villain couldn't help but want to please the young man who had just entered the door, so he nodded and made a gesture of willingness to shake his hand.

"Let me go to another room." The boy stepped back and said.

"Three fats." Zhang Fat said, walking forward. "Are you—you don't know me anymore?"

"Don't come near me again," the boy was still backing away, his eyes fixed on the murderer's face with fear in his eyes.

The man stopped after taking two steps, staring at each other, and as a result, the fat man's eyes gradually drooped.

"You bear witness - I am not afraid of him - and if they come up here to arrest him, I will hand him over, and I will denounce you at once. He could have killed me for this, if he was pleased, or if he had the guts, but as long as I was here, I would hand him over.

Even if I put him alive in the pot and cook him, I will hand him over. Kill! Help me! If any of you have a seed, help me. Kill! Help me! Arrest him! ”

The boy shouted, accompanied by a furious gesture, and really threw himself headlong at the big man, and the force was so fierce that he was taken by surprise that he was knocked to the ground.

The three onlookers were stunned, and no one intervened, and the boy and the man rolled on the ground.

The boy ignored the rain of fists falling on him, and his hands pulled the clothes on the murderer's chest tighter and tighter, exerting all his strength, and kept calling for help.

However, after all, the two sides had a huge disparity in strength, and this contest soon became clear.

Zhang Fat lifted the boy to the ground and pressed his knees on his neck, and at this moment, the three fat men pulled him with a panicked look and pointed to the window.

Below, the fire flickered, and there were people talking loudly and passionately, and the sound of hurried footsteps—there seemed to be a lot of them—came from the nearest wooden bridge.

There seemed to be a man on a horse in the crowd, and the sound of horses' hooves clattering on the uneven gravel pavement.

There were more and more fires, and the footsteps were getting denser and noisier. Immediately afterward, there was a heavy knock at the door, and countless angry voices converged into a noisy noise that would tremble even the most daring.

"Help!" The boy screamed, his voice piercing the night sky, "He's here." Smash the door open! ”

"We're here to catch the murderer!" Someone shouted loudly outside. The drum noise was raised again, and louder.

"Smash the door open!" The boy screamed, "I tell you, they will never open the door." Rush straight into the bright room. Smash the door open! ”

As soon as he stopped speaking, there was a sharp and heavy thud on the door and the window panel downstairs, and a loud cheer erupted from the crowd, and for the first time those who heard the sound got a fairly accurate idea of how high the cry was.

"Find a place, open the door, and I'll shut up this screaming little ghost," shouted the fat man murderously, dragging the boy around effortlessly as if he were an empty pocket. "That's the door, quick!" He threw the boy in, plugged in the latch, and turned the key. "Is the door downstairs secure?"

"On the double insurance, take the chain." The Clever Ghost replied, and he and the other two were still helpless and at a loss.

"What about the wainscoting – is it sturdy?

"Wrapped in iron sheets."

"Windows too?"

"Yes, so are the windows."

"See your fuck." The gangster let out, pushed the pane up, and yelled viciously at the crowd, "Whatever you want." I'm going to play you a trick. ”

Of all the terrible shouts that came to the ears of men, there was none like the roar of an enraged crowd. Some shouted at the nearest person to set fire to the house, while others roared and told the police to shoot him.

Of all the men, the man on the horse was particularly angry, and he flew down from the saddle, and as if he were parting the water, he swept through the crowd, and rushed to the window, and shouted loudly, and his voice drowned out all the clamour. "Whoever is going to carry a ladder and give him twenty copper plates."

The nearest voices picked up the shout, and hundreds of voices responded in groups. Some called for carrying ladders, some for sledgehammers, and some ran around with torches, as if looking for these things, but then came back and roared again.

Some people get angry by cursing to no avail, and some people are crazy and desperately squeezing forward, which hinders the progress of those downstairs. A few of the most daring wanted to climb up using the cracks in the water droppipes and walls.

The crowd surged in the darkness, like a wheat field undulating and tumbling under the howl of a raging wind, and from time to time there was an angry clamor in unison.

"Tide," the murderer shouted as he closed the windows and shut the faces out, stumbling back into the room. "The Kung Fu I came up with is at a high tide. Give me a rope, a little longer. They were all in front of the house, and I could jump into the ridiculous ditch and escape from there. Give me a rope, or I'll just add three more lives and kill myself. ”

Three terrified men pointed to the place where such things were kept. The murderer panicked and chose the longest and strongest rope. Hurriedly climbed onto the roof.

All the windows at the back of the house had been bricked long ago, except for a small movable skylight in the room where the ghost was enclosed, but it was too small for him to get through.

However, it was from this exit that the three fats shouted at the people outside, telling them to stay in the back of the house.

For this reason, when the murderer finally emerged from the door on the top floor and appeared on the roof, a high-pitched cry informed the people in front of the house of the situation, and the crowd immediately pushed and shoved and swarmed into a rushing torrent.

The murderer pressed against the door with a specially brought plank that made it difficult to open it from the inside, and he climbed over the tiles and looked down through the low breastwork.

The tide receded, and the ditch became a swamp.

For a few moments, the crowd fell silent, observing his movements, unable to guess what he was trying to do, but as soon as they realized that his plan had failed, they immediately set off a wave of victorious cheers and curses, compared to which the previous shouts could only be a whisper.

The sound came and went. Some people who were too far away couldn't figure out the meaning and roared along. Immediately, the scolding echoed endlessly, as if the citizens of London had come out to curse the murderer.

The people in front of the house were getting closer—closer and closer, angry faces converging into a raging torrent, and everywhere there were dazzling torches guiding the way and illuminating their angry expressions.

The crowd rushed into the houses on the other side of the trench, pushed the window frames up, or simply smashed them. Every window day is layered with many faces.

Great crowds of people stood on the roofs of every house. Small bridges bent under the weight of the crowd. The flow of people is still coming, and they all want to find a corner or a gap to shout a few voices, just to take a look at the villain.

"Catch him now," one man shouted on the nearest bridge, "that's great." ”

People took off their hats, held them in their hands and waved them, and the shouts rose into the air again.

"If anyone captures the murderer alive, I will reward fifty oceans!" An old gentleman cried out in the same place: "I will stay here and wait for the person who will receive the reward." ”

Another cheer. In an instant, news spread through the crowd: the door had finally slammed open, and the man who had just begun to tell to move the ladder had rushed upstairs. The news spread one by one, and the crowd turned suddenly.

The people standing at the window, seeing the people on the bridge swarming back, also rushed out into the street, and joined the crowd that was scrambling back to their place: pushing and maneuvering, scrambling, and all of them were anxious to rush to the door, so that they could watch carefully when the police escorted the prisoners out.

Some were almost out of breath, some were squeezed to the ground and trampled in the chaos, and the long and short screams were really terrible. The narrow road was completely clogged. Some rushed back and forth to return to the open space in front of the house, others struggled desperately to squeeze out of the crowd, and at this moment the attention that had been focused on the murderer was distracted, although the eagerness of the people to catch him increased.