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