The Great Impersonation by E. Phillips Oppenheim (books to read now txt) 📕

round to the side of the house underneath Rosamund’s window. A little exclamation broke from his lips as he stood there. From the terraced walks, down the steps, and straight across the park to the corner of the Black Wood, were fresh tracks. The cry had been no fantasy. Somebody or something had passed from the Black Wood and back again to this spot in the night.

Dominey, curiously excited by his discovery, examined the footmarks eagerly, then followed them to the corner of the wood. Here and there they puzzled him. They were neither like human footsteps nor the track of any known animal. At the edge of the wood they seemed to vanish into the heart of a great mass of brambles, from which here and there the snow had been shaken off. There was no sign of any pathway; if ever there had been one, the neglect of years had obliterated it. Bracken, brambles, shrubs and bushes had grown up and degenerated, only to be succeeded by a ranker and more dense form of undergrowth. Many of the trees, although they were still plentiful, had been blown down and left to rot on the ground. The place was silent except for the slow drip of falling snow from the drooping leaves. He took one more cautious step forward and found himself slowly sinking. Black mud was oozing up through the snow where he had set his feet. He was just able to scramble back. Picking his way with great caution, he commenced a leisurely perambulation of the whole of the outside of the wood.

Heggs, the junior keeper, an hour or so later, went over the gun rack once more, tapped the empty cases, and turned towards Middleton, who was sitting in a chair before the fire, smoking his pipe.

“I can’t find master’s number two gun, Mr. Middleton,” he announced. “That’s missing.”

“Look again, lad,” the old keeper directed, removing the pipe from his mouth. “The master was shooting with it yesterday. Look amongst those loose ’uns at the far end of the rack. It must be somewhere there.”

“Well, that isn’t,” the young man replied obstinately.

The door of the room was suddenly opened, and Dominey entered with the missing gun under his arm. Middleton rose to his feet at once and laid down his pipe. Surprise kept him temporarily silent.

“I want you to come this way with me for a moment,” his master ordered.

The keeper took up his hat and stick and followed. Dominey led him to where the tracks had halted on the gravel outside Rosamund’s window and pointed across to the Black Wood.

“What do you make of those?” he enquired.

Middleton did not hesitate. He shook his head gravely.

“Was anything heard last night, sir?”

“There was an infernal yell underneath this window.”

“That was the spirit of Roger Unthank, for sure,” Middleton pronounced, with a little shudder. “When he do come out of that wood, he do call.”

“Spirits,” his master pointed out, “do not leave tracks like that behind.”

Middleton considered the matter.

“They do say hereabout,” he confided, “that the spirit of Roger Unthank have been taken possession of by some sort of great animal, and that it do come here now and then to be fed.”

“By whom?” Dominey enquired patiently.

“Why, by Mrs. Unthank.”

“Mrs. Unthank has not been in this house for many months. From the day she left until last night, so far as I can gather, nothing has been heard of this ghost, or beast, or whatever it is.”

“That do seem queer, surely,” Middleton admitted.

Dominey followed the tracks with his eyes to the wood and back again.

“Middleton,” he said, “I am learning something about spirits. It seems that they not only make tracks, but they require feeding. Perhaps if that is so they can feel a charge of shot inside them.”

The old man seemed for a moment to stiffen with slow horror.

“You wouldn’t shoot at it, Squire?” he gasped.

“I should have done so this morning if I had had a chance,” Dominey replied. “When the weather is a little drier, I am going to make my way into that wood, Middleton, with a rifle under my arm.”

“Then as God’s above, you’ll never come out, Squire!” was the solemn reply.

“We will see,” Dominey muttered. “I have hacked my way through some queer country in Africa.”

“There’s nowt like this wood in the world, sir,” the old man asserted doggedly. “The bottom’s rotten from end to end and the top’s all poisonous. The birds die there on the trees. It’s chockful of reptiles and unclean things, with green and purple fungi, two feet high, with poison in the very sniff of them. The man who enters that wood goes to his grave.”

“Nevertheless,” Dominey said firmly, “within a very short time I am going to solve the mystery of this nocturnal visitor.”

They returned to the house, side by side. Just before they entered, Dominey turned to his companion.

“Middleton,” he said, “you keep up the good old customs, I suppose, and spend half an hour at the ‘Dominey Arms’ now and then?”

“Most every night of my life, sir,” the old man replied, “from eight till nine. I’m a man of regular habits, and that do seem right to me that with the work done right and proper a man should have his relaxation.”

“That is right, John,” Dominey assented. “Next time you are there, don’t forget to mention that I am going to have that wood looked through. I should like it to get about, you understand?”

“That’ll fair flummox the folk,” was the doubtful reply, “but I’ll let ’em know, Squire. There’ll be a rare bit of talk, I can promise you that.”

Dominey handed over his gun, went to his room, bathed and changed, and descended for breakfast. There was a sudden hush as he entered, which he very well understood. Everyone began to talk about the prospect of the day’s sport. Dominey helped himself from the sideboard and took his place at the table.

“I hope,” he said, “that our very latest thing in ghosts did not disturb anybody.”

“We