When the Borribles were satisfied with their interrogation they moved away from their prisoner so they could talk without being overheard. They leant against the trees and discussed matters, scanning the horizon at the same time.

"Well," said Bingo, "how are we going to play it?"

"What our friend forgot to mention," said Knocker, "is that although there are only two entrances to the Bunker, there is in fact a ventilation shaft that comes out above the kitchens. It's in one of the books. I think that's the way we—I mean you—should go in."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Stonks. "My target is the doorkeeper. I'll have to go in through the door, otherwise I might not find him."

"I've got an idea," cried Torreycanyon. "We can make a diversionary attack on both doors, just a couple of us, and the main body can get in through the ventilator."

"Here comes 'Rococco," said Stonks, "running."

"What a mover," said Sydney. "I hope it's not bad news."

Orococco stopped a few yards from the copse, turning to make sure no one was watching before he slipped into the trees.

"Hello," he panted, "everything okay?"

"We're just talking about how to attack," said Napoleon. "Any trouble?"

"Nah," answered the Tooting Borrible, "I've just been for a little runaround, see what I could see. Did you get the Rumble I sent you?"

"Not half," said the Wendle. "What did you find out?"

"Well, I don't think they know we're here," said Orococco. "I saw quite a few of them wandering about with those lance things of theirs, Rumble-sticks, but they didn't look worried, just stooging up and down. I found the two entrances to the place, and I found out where the ventilation comes out, on top of a hill. It will be a piece of duff."

Napoleon turned from listening to the Totter and looked at Knocker, suspicious again. "And what will you be up to during the attack, eh?"

"Adolf and me will help cause as much confusion as possible," answered Knocker, without looking at the Wendle.

"Not half, verdammt, " agreed the German.

After a little more discussion Torreycanyon's plan was adopted unanimously and the Adventurers went back to the clearing. There, a surprise awaited them. The Rumble had disappeared, even the ropes that had bound him were gone.

"Who tied him up then?" Napoleon shouted at Vulge, anger tightening his face.

Vulge looked guilty. "I made sure he couldn't get free." He glanced at the others. "Really I did."

"Bloody well looks like it, don't it?" said Napoleon. "If he gets back to his Bunker we've had it."

"Don't panic," giggled Sydney, "look at Sam."

The horse was lying down at one side of the clearing with a stupidly contented expression on his long face. From his mouth dangled a little frayed end of rope; it swung gently with the movement of his champing jaws.

"Well, I'll be double verdammted, " cried Adolf. "Sam's eaten him," and he hooted.

"Would you Adam-and-Eve it?" said Stonks incredulously. "So he has, the sly old rogue."

"That makes one Rumble the less," said Napoleon practically. "I wondered what we were going to do with him."

Sam gave a neigh of pleasure and rolled over on his side, stuck out his legs and promptly went into a deep sleep.

"That's just what I'm going to do, man," said Orococco, "get something to eat and then have a good snooze. After all, tonight's the night, eh?"

That seemed like a good idea to everybody and after a light snack they curled up in their sleeping bags. Knocker, Adolf and Chalotte took the first watch of two hours, two hours to gaze across the chilly greeny-grey expanses of inhospitable Rumbledom.

It was deep winter now and high up on this hill the air was sharp-edged and brittle. "No wonder those Rumbles have fur coats," thought Knocker, as he watched and shivered. Nothing moved out there in the vastness, nothing except a few adults taking dogs for walks or children racing along on bicycles. It was strange, he reflected, how this raid was going to take place and no adults, no policemen would ever know about it—but then there was a lot happened that they never knew about and didn't want to know about, either.

Chalotte came and leaned against a tree nearby. She didn't look at Knocker at first, but kept watch over the green land where the advancing mist of dusk was making it difficult to distinguish between trees and gorse bushes, pathways and grass.

"It's going to be dangerous, isn't it," she said. It wasn't a question.

"We always knew some of us wouldn't survive," answered Knocker.

"I sometimes think," said Chalotte, "that we're not really meant for this kind of Adventure. It would be nice to go back to being just a Borrible, living in our nice broken-down houses. You know the proverb 'Fruit of the barrow is enough for a Borrible'. I mean this Adventure has turned out to be far beyond what we normally do. It's suicide."

"Wait a minute," protested Knocker, surprised. "This is the greatest Adventure we're ever likely to hear of, let alone go on."

"Hmmmm." She sounded unconvinced. "You ought to make it clear to the others that by this time tomorrow they're likely to be dead. Who wants to die for a name? That was never Borrible."

"Fruit of the barrow may be all right, but we've got to have Adventures, too. Look, if you hadn't come on this one you wouldn't have seen Dewdrop and Erbie and learned what happens to us when we get caught. We'd heard about it but now we've seen it, we know."

"Yes, but supposing Spiff got it all wrong, supposing those Rumbles just came down on a spree, just to visit the Park, not take over all of Battersea, like he said. What then, eh? It would be silly, just them scared of us and us scared of them."

"Oh, that's rubbish," said Knocker laughing coldly. "Old Spiff don't make bloomers like that, he just don't. He has studied the Rumbles for years, he knows them inside out. I mean, do you think the Wendles don't know what they're up against? Flinthead is Flinthead because of the Rumbles, it's all down to them . . . obviously."

"You admire Spiff too much," said Chalotte. "The more I see of expeditions the more I think of getting back to where we belong. I mean how important is a name? You've got one and yet you're going on a suicide mission for another." She shook her head, glanced at Knocker, and then said what was really on her mind. "There's something else, isn't there? Something secret, that you know, and Spiff knows. Ordinary expeditions are fine adventures and funny, but this one is making us like the Wendles. That can't be good, can it? The things we do might look right now but they could turn out wrong in the end."

Knocker became stern; he couldn't manage long and complicated arguments. "You and Sydney have really pulled your weight, all along. I didn't believe you could at the beginning, but you have. Are you going to spoil it all now by being scared?"

Chalotte didn't become angry, in fact she smiled. "I told you at the start we'd be as good as anyone else. As for scared, well, we're all scared of something. You're scared that you won't get another name, and another after that." And she placed her hand ever so lightly on his and took it away again.

Knocker blushed and turned his head to look at her but she was gone through the trees back to her lookout post. Over the sunless fields of Rumbledom the mist lay in pools and there was not a soul to be seen. Soon it would be dark; he would be glad when it started.

The Borribles watched and slept by turns through the evening of that day but by midnight they could rest no more, so they roused themselves for one last meal together. They crowded under the cart and held their feast by the light of torches tied to the spokes of the cartwheels. They were subdued, but Adolf told them of his travels and how he had got his names, how this was the best adventure he had ever known and how happy and glad he was to be with such a band. He slapped Napoleon on the back and said he "wasn't bad for a Wendle," and even Napoleon had to laugh at that and he gave the German another can of Dewdrop's Guinness.

At the blackest part of the night they began to prepare themselves. They reloaded their double bandoliers with the choicest stones and they replaced the used rubbers of their catapults. Adolf and Knocker even took with them the spare catapults they had used for their escape from Dewdrop's house. They removed all shiny things from their jackets and they tucked their trousers into their socks and tied the laces of their combat boots tightly and well so that nothing could get caught on nails and doors and things. They put Sam back between the shafts and loaded their haversacks onto the cart so they should be ready to run for it if they ever managed to get clear of the Bunker. When all was done they shovelled up a huge pile of stones from the gravelly shore of the lake and threw them into the cart as well. If they had to make a running retreat it would be an advantage to have a good supply of ammunition with them. At the very last, Knocker took a tin from his pocket, opened it, and began smearing his face with the contents. It was black greasepaint, used so that his white skin would not be spied by the enemy in the frosty starlight. Orococco laughed as the others followed suit.

"Man, oh man, I've seen everything now. If we has a daylight attack, will you fellas get me some white paint so my face don't stick out?"

His friends, feeling a little foolish, told him to "Shaddup", but he only laughed again, and at odd moments through the night he chuckled to himself whenever he saw the others with their black faces.

When they were ready to leave they stood together and very tough and determined they looked. One by one they went to the horse and patted him and asked him to be patient, standing in the traces like that, and Sam neighed like a war-charger and stamped a hoof. Then they synchronised their watches and took a compass bearing on the copse and finally, without a light to guide them, they moved off in single file. Orococco led them out, for as he said, not only did he know the way, but he was still the blackest of them all.