‘Look here,’ said Mr Campion, breaking into the conversation for the first time. ‘Is the ghost in Pharisees’ Clearing a new affair or has it been going on for some time?’
The elder Peck considered. ‘There’s allus been summat strange down there,’ he said. ‘It ain’t been reg’lar. Off and on, as you might say. I mind when I was a boy the whole village were quaggly about ut. Then that died down. Then about five years agoo someone seen un, and there ain’t no one been there of a night time sence. I reckon that’s a spirit.’
Penny looked at the younger man. ‘What do you think about it?’ she said.
‘I don’t know, miss.’ The boy was puzzled. ‘I never rightly thought on ut. That never interfered with me. But I never were there at night. That’s a mystery, that’s what that is. Still,’ he added cheerfully, ‘I ain’t afraid of ut. I fixed up that wireless for the old ’un and if I can rule that I can rule any ghost. Seems like that’s magic,’ he observed naively, indicating the mass of crazy looking machinery behind the old man’s chair.
The Professor rose. ‘Then you’ll be down at Tye Hall at about eleven-thirty, with a stack net?’ he said.
Mr Peck junior touched an imaginary hat. ‘I will, sir.’
‘I ’on’t,’ said his father complacently. ‘I’ll be harkening to a band then from Germany; they don’t be so set on the Sabbath as we are ’ere, the ’eathens. And if you’re wise,’ he added with sudden vigour, ‘you’ll stay in yer beds, same as I do. There be more goes on at night than us thinks on. You stay out of ut, miss. That ain’t no wild sheep down in Pharisees. And whatever comes on ut,’ he concluded solemnly, ‘it won’t be no good.’
‘I’ll be there,’ said his son, escorting them down the path. As they turned into the field the strains of the Soldiers’ Chorus came floating to them across the tangled garden.
CHAPTER 17
The Stack Net
—
‘IF THAT owl cries again I shall have hysterics,’ said Beth nervously.
There were all four of them, the two girls, Professor Cairey and Mr Campion, seated in the candle-lit library at Tye Hall, waiting for half-past eleven and the arrival of young Perce with his stack net. Mrs Cairey had retired, but nothing the Professor or Mr Campion could say would persuade the two girls to follow her example.
Earlier in the evening Campion had been pleasantly fatuous, but now, as the actual moment approached, even he seemed to have become sobered by the eeriness of the occasion. The Professor was the virtual leader of the party. His boyish enthusiasm of earlier in the day had given place to a brisk, commanding mood, and he prepared for the expedition in a business-like manner.
‘Torch, travelling rug, and a hip flask,’ he said, setting them on the table. ‘I shouldn’t take a gun in case you’re tempted to loose off. I wish you two girls would go to bed and keep out of it.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Beth stoutly. ‘We’re going to hold the fort for you. Whether you see a ghost or not you’ll be glad of something hot when you come in.’
Mr Campion, who had been standing in the window, turned. ‘We shall have a little moon,’ he said. ‘I wish I knew what you were getting at, Professor. Am I to expect a wailing manacled figure, or are chains distinctly passé?’
The Professor shook his head. ‘I’m not going to make guesses,’ he said, ‘in case my hunch is absolutely wrong. However, the girls will be all right up here. There won’t be any clutching hands or spooks blowing out the candles. It’s extraordinary how these old houses do creak at night, though,’ he observed involuntarily.
Beth perched herself on the arm of Penny’s chair. ‘We shall hold each other’s hands till you come back,’ she said. ‘It’s hot tonight, isn’t it?’
As soon as she had spoken, the oppressive warmth of the night seemed to become almost unbearable. It was a breathless evening, and the garden outside was uncannily silent, so that when an owl screamed it sounded almost as if the terrifying noise were in the room.
Long awkward silences fell on the company as they waited, and even the most casual sentence seemed jerky and nervous.
A sharp tap on the window startled them violently, and it was only when a husky Suffolk voice outside remarked confidentially: ‘I be ’ere, sir,’ that they realized that the party was complete.
Next moment Mr Peck junior’s head and shoulders appeared in the open half of the casement. He looked a little distrait himself, and his grin was inclined to be sheepish. He had paid special attention to his coiffure in honour of going ghost hunting with the gentry, with the result that his brown curling locks were brushed up to a stupendous quiff on the top of his head, which gave him the startling appearance of having his hair standing on end with fright.
‘I see a light, so I come ’ere, sir,’ he said. ‘Not wishin’ to startle the maids, like. Am I right for time?’
It was evident that he was endeavouring to appear as calm as though the trip were the most usual one in the world. The Professor hastily gathered his things together.
‘We’ll go out by the side door,’ he said to Campion. ‘Wait there a minute, will you, Peck? We’ll come round to you.’
‘Good luck,’ said Penny.
Mr Campion followed the alert and still youthful Professor out into the stone-flagged corridor and down to the half-glass garden door. They stepped out on to a soft lawn and the Professor led the way round to the side of the house, where young Peck’s gaunt figure stood silhouetted against the window. As they approached, something stirred in the darkness at their feet.
‘’Tis Neb, sir,’ said Peck in reply to the Professor’s muttered exclamation. ‘My owd dog. I reckoned I’d bring ’un with me. For company, like. He’ll be as quiet as a meece, won’t you, boy?’ The last words were addressed to the dog, as he stooped and patted a shape that was rapidly becoming visible as their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Neb turned out to be a large, lank creature with a huge head, no tail, and ears like a calf. He moved like a shadow behind his master, being trained with that astonishing excellence that is often regarded with suspicion in those parts of the country where men preserve game.
‘Have you got the net?’ said Mr Campion as they crossed the grass and made for the footpath to the coppice.
‘’Ere it be, sir. ’Tis a piece of an old ’un. I reckoned we couldn’t manage a whole heavy ’un.’ He half-turned, showing a large and heavy roll of stout interlaced cords which he carried slung over his shoulder. ‘I brought a hurricane with me, too,’ he added, turning to the Professor, ‘but I didn’t light ’un by the house.’
‘You can leave that,’ said the Professor. ‘I’ve got a torch.’
Mr Peck clung to his lantern.
‘I reckon I’ll keep that, if you don’t mind, sir,’ he said.
As they went through the darkness, the heavy silence closed in upon them, broken only by the rustle of their own feet in the grass.
Presently young Peck detailed his idea of their procedure.
‘Since you left the trappin’ of ut to me, sirs,’ he ventured, ‘I thought maybe you’d like to know how I be settin’ out. I reckoned I’d find a good tree with a branch stickin’ out on ut, and I’d set on that with the net, and when the thing come beneath then I’d drop that over ut.’
The simplicity of this plan seemed to fill the young man with pride and delight. Mr Campion and the Professor were hardly so struck by it.
‘Suppose it doesn’t come under your tree?’ said Mr Campion.
But the younger Peck was prepared for this emergency. ‘I doubt not that will, sir,’ he said. He paused, and after a moment or two of consideration volunteered an enlightening remark. ‘That chases people, sir. I was talking to the old ’un, tea-time. ’E told I that, and I thought ut out that if I was up the tree, sir, you could sort of lead that under I. Of course,’ he went on cheerfully, ‘us can’t tell if that’ll be there, can us?’
Mr Campion chuckled. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘We’re the bait and the poor fish too.’
He slipped in front of them, treading silently as a cat, and behind him the great mongrel picked his way furtively. For some time they plodded on in silence. Mr Campion had removed his spectacles, a habit of his when action was indicated. The heat had become almost unbearable. There was only a waning moon visible, although the stars shone brightly enough.
The belt of trees which they were rapidly approaching was ink black and curiously uninviting, and the little Belgian owls with which that part of the country is infested hooted dismally from time to time. They followed the path and entered the Professor’s wood, which corresponded to the larger one belonging to the Tower on the opposite side of the clearing, and through which Penny had conducted Mr Campion on the morning of Lady Pethwick’s death only a week before.
Young Peck straightened himself and pushed on doggedly as the branches over his head rendered his path almost completely black. Suddenly Neb began to snuffle, his great head bowed to his master’s heels. Presently he stopped dead and emitted a suppressed whinnying sound which brought the youth to a standstill.
‘What is ut, boy?’ whispered Peck. The dog turned silently from the path and disappeared into the darkness, to return a moment or so later with something hanging from his jaw. The youth squatted down on his heels and lit a match. The tiny flare showed the great yellow dog with a young rabbit in his mouth. The animal was quite dead, a piece of wire drawn tightly round its neck.
Peck took it from the dog and the Professor produced his torch.
‘Ah,’ whispered the boy contemptuously as he threw the rabbit down. ‘There’s someone about don’t fear no ghosts. That ain’t been snared above a ’alf-hour.’
He rose to his feet, and with the dog walking obediently behind him set off once more into the silent depths of the wood. The path was one left by woodcutters in the winter, and led directly through the scrub into open space beyond.
Pharisees’ Clearing was uncanny enough in the day-time, but at night it was frankly awe-inspiring. The narrow stony strip between the woods was ghostly in the starlight, and here, hemmed in between the long line of trees, the air was suffocating.
The Professor nudged Mr Campion’s arm. ‘Almost too good to be true,’ he murmured.
Campion nodded. ‘So much for background,’ he whispered. ‘This is the place and the hour all right. When does the performance begin?’
But if Campion could be light-hearted, Mr Peck was certainly not in the same mood. As they halted in the shadows on the edge of the clearing his voice came to them husky and alarmed.
‘Reckon this is the place. You draw that under ’ere and I’ll catch un,’ he murmured, indicating the oak beneath which they stood. Then he disappeared like a shadow into the blackness, and they heard the soft scrape of his rubber shoes on the bole of the tree. He climbed like a monkey, no mean feat in the darkness with two stone of ropes tied round him, and they heard him grunt softly as he pulled himself up. A few moments later a whisper came from just above their heads.
‘I’ll rest ’ere time that comes.’
‘Where’s the dog?’ said the Professor softly.
‘That’s at the foot of the tree. That won’t move.’
Mr Peck seemed to have made his arrangements complete.
‘What does A do now?’ murmured Mr Campion.
There were faint, almost indetectable sounds all round them in the wood, minute rustlings like stifled breathings in the dark. Neither was insensible to the eeriness of the moment, but each man had his own particular interest in the matter.
‘I think,’ the Professor whispered, ‘that if you’ll work round the left side I’ll go round the right. I got my photograph from the point where the Colonel’s woodpath reaches the clearing. If we all three wait at equal distances round the oval, our quarry can’t very well escape us, if it appears at all.’
‘I wish I’d brought my twig of rowan,’ said Mr Campion with apparent feeling, as he set off in the direction indicated. He moved along the side of the wood, keeping well in the shadow of the overhanging trees. Apart from the breath-taking moment when he disturbed a hare at his very feet, there were no thrills until he reached a spot about thirty yards, or so he judged, from the entrance to the Tower Wood. Here he sat down in the long grass and waited.
From the absolute silence in the clearing he guessed that the Professor had reached his point of vantage somewhere across the faintly lit stretch opposite him. The thought that there were three men and a dog watching anxiously for something unknown to appear among those loose stones and sparse clumps of coarse grass in front of him made the scene slightly more terrifying. He hunched his knees to his chin and composed himself for a long wait. He had not underestimated his vigil.
The minutes passed slowly. Once or twice a sleepy squawk sounded from the wood behind him, and, as his ears became attuned to the quietness, somewhere far away in the Tower garden a nightjar repeated its uncouth cry like an old-fashioned policeman’s rattle.
And then, for the first time, Mr Campion became conscious that someone was moving clumsily in the depths of the wood behind him. He turned his head and listened intently. There was certainly nothing supernatural about this. The movements were those of a man, or some animal quite as heavy. For a minute or so he was puzzled, but a single sound reassured him, the sharp metallic click of a spring trap being set.
He listened to the rustling going farther and farther away, with occasional pauses as other traps were set. Someone evidently paid very little respect to the horror which had killed Lady Pethwick and driven Lugg into hysterics.
Once again all was silent. The illuminated hands on his watch showed half-past twelve. He sighed and settled down once more. His face in the darkness still wore his habitual expression of affable fatuity. His eyes were half-closed.
‘Angels and ministers of grace defend me, I hope,’ he remarked under his breath, and turned up his coat to obscure the whiteness of his collar.
The oppressive warmth of the night was giving place to the first cool breath of dawn when his senses, which had gradually become drowsy, were startled into tingling life by one of the most terrible sounds he had ever heard. It was not very loud, but its quality made up for any deficiency on that score.
It was a noise that could only be described as a gentle howling, coming swiftly through the trees, and he was reminded unpleasantly of Mr Lugg’s description, ‘the sort of song an animal might sing’. Not even among native races, of whom he had some little experience, had he ever heard anything quite so blood-curdling. Quite the most terrifying point about the noise was that the sound was rhythmic. It rose and fell on a definite beat, and the pitch was high and quavering.
The sound came nearer and nearer, and quite suddenly he saw the figure.
It had advanced not from the Colonel’s path, as they had expected, but from the narrow opening at the northern end of the clearing, and now stood silhouetted against the lightening sky.
Mr Campion rose to his feet, only vaguely aware of his numbed and aching limbs. The creature, whatever it was, certainly had points of elemental horror about it.
It was immensely tall, as Lugg had said, and almost inconceivably thin. Long caprious horns crowned its head, and its body showed grotesque and misshapen.
It advanced down the clearing, still wailing, and Campion caught a clearer glimpse of the front of it as it came nearer.
He felt suddenly sick, and his scalp tingled.
Almost at the same moment the creature came to windward of him, and he was aware of the aroma of putrefaction, strong and unclean in his nostrils.
He darted out of his hiding-place. The figure halted and turned towards him. As it did so he caught sight of a single dead eye, blank and revolting.
Mr Campion stood his ground, and the figure came nearer. From somewhere beyond it Peck’s dog had begun to
howl piteously. Mr Campion gave way cautiously, edging round towards the sound, allowing the apparition to gain a little upon him as he did so. Every time it came a step forward he retreated, leading it unerringly towards the trap.
Suddenly it made a rush at him, and he turned and ran for the opening, his long thin figure a picture of terror in the night. The horned thing padded after him.
He passed the whimpering dog, and for a giddy moment the creature seemed almost upon him. There was a rustle above his head and something seemed to hover for an instant in the air like a great bat. Then the weighty stack net dropped over his pursuer and a terrible half human howl went shattering through the leaves.
‘Call off the dog!’ shouted the Professor as he came running up. ‘For God’s sake call off the dog!’
CHAPTER 18
Survival
—
AS HE levelled his torch, the Professor’s hand shook violently.
The dog, after its first frenzied attack, crouched cowering by the tree trunk, while Mr Campion bent over the struggling mass in the heavy net.
The almost blinding beam of light after the intense darkness seemed paradoxically to add to the confusion. The creature, whatever it was, had ceased to struggle and lay motionless in the net, shapeless and hairy under the tangle of ropes.
The fact that the ‘ghost’ actually lay captured at their feet brought home to both men how slender their hopes of success had been the previous evening. Yet there it lay, still incomprehensible, a grotesque and reeking mass.
Peck dropped to the ground from his branch, and they caught a glimpse of his face, pale, and glistening with great beads of sweat.
‘Lumme,’ he kept whispering to himself pathetically. ‘Lumme.’
The Professor bent over the net, and when he spoke there was more excitement than horror in his tone.
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