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.  Every one 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 all seem to have heard the same thing,” the Cabinet Minister observed, with interest,—­“a most appalling and unearthly cry.  I have lately joined every society connected with spooks and find them a fascinating study.”

“If you want to investigate,” Dominey observed, as he helped himself to coffee, “you can bring out a revolver and prowl about with me one night.  From the time when I was a kid, before I went to Eton, up till when I left here for Africa, we had a series of highly respectable and well-behaved ghosts, who were a credit to the family and of whom we were somewhat proud.  This latest spook, however, is something quite outside the pale.”

“Has he a history?” Mr. Watson asked with interest.