Sylva

“Wherever you like, whenever you like,” said the doctor, and we fixed a date for a drink before lunch in the middle of the coming week. “So as to be undisturbed,” I explained. And after an exchange of affectionate courtesies, behind which each of us took pains to conceal his surprise or embarrassment, I took my leave at once.

The innkeeper’s name was Anthony Brown, and his ruling passion was fox hunting. I was almost certain that he had followed the hunt in which my vixen had vanished before the hunters’ eyes. In any case I knew that the matter had been hotly debated at the Unicorn, and a score of theories aired though none adopted. That’s why I had chosen the place to meet Dr. Sullivan. When we had sat down at a table apart, I asked Mr. Brown to have a drink with us. I had no difficulty in leading him on to his favorite sport. We first had to listen at length to numerous tedious exploits in which he had figured with modest dash.

“Since we are on the subject,” I broke in, “what’s that story, Mr. Brown, about a fox having vanished in thin air? I’ve been told that you were present at the time.”

“Present! You may say I saw it, with my own eyes, bursting like a soap bubble!” he cried.

“Go on! Tell us about it.”

“By the way, now I think of it, didn’t it happen just outside your place?” He turned to Dr. Sullivan. “The fox was leading us straight on to Richwick Manor. It was a cunning beast, it had led the hounds a hell of a dance almost till nightfall. But its game was up. The pack was after it. There wasn’t much light any more, it’s true, but I have sharp ears. When the hounds are all set for the kill, you’d have to be a raw novice to mistake the noise they make. They were right on top of it, and no mistake.”

“And it disappeared?” asked the doctor.

“Burst like a ruddy bubble before their very noses, I tell you! I’ve never seen such a stunned pack of curs as those we found when we got there. Dumb-struck they were, a right lot of idiots! Not that we,” he added with a laugh, “looked any brighter than they!”

“I’ve had a good look at my hedge, you know,” I said with casual hypocrisy. “It’s full of holes.”

“Do you think if that devilish beast had slipped through a hole,” he cried, “the hounds wouldn’t have followed it? I don’t want to speak ill of your hedge, Mr. Richwick, but they’ve jumped higher ones than yours! No, just a blasted bubble, that’s the word for it. Nobody’s ever seen anything like it in fox hunters’ memory. We haven’t stopped arguing about it. Do you hunt, too?” he asked the doctor.

Sullivan said he didn’t. The discussion went on for a while, and then we bade the innkeeper good-by. I got into the doctor’s carriage and while he clicked his tongue to the horse, I said:

“I take it this has convinced you of that strange disappearance?”

“Is that your miracle?” asked the doctor.

“Heavens no, unfortunately! It’s only half of it. I’m taking you along to the other half.”

“Besides, couldn’t the animal have passed through those holes in the hedge, after all?”

“Of course,” I laughed, “and that’s just what it did. Only the point is this: why didn’t the hounds follow it? Isn’t that inexplicable? And why did they suddenly stop barking?”

“Because,” the doctor retorted, laughing too, “they must have come up slap against one of your ghosts. I’ve always suspected Richwick Manor of harboring whole regiments of them.”

“Ghosts, my foot!” I growled, not laughing any more, and the doctor looked at me intrigued. “You won’t tell anyone about it?” I said suddenly, with some agitation, for we were getting near. “You remember your promise, don’t you?”

“Of course, of course! What are you afraid of?”

“Neither explicitly nor implicitly?” I persisted. “By hinting for instance that, don’t you see, you must hold your tongue but if you only could…”

“I swear, you latterday Hamlet, do calm yourself! Damn it all, it’s only a fox! You couldn’t be more excited if you’d committed a murder!”

“If only I’d committed a murder,” I sighed, “I’d be in less of a stew.”

“Am I the first person you’ve told about this?”

“The second one, after Mrs. Bumley.”

“Who is Mrs. Bumley?”

“Sylva’s governess.”

“And who is Sylva? Have you many more unknown females up your sleeve?”

“No, only those two. But we’re almost there. You’ll soon get an answer to all this.”

We had indeed arrived. We left the carriage at the farm and walked into the house. Mrs. Bumley was up in her room (I had asked her to stay there). I suggested we should first have another double scotch to give ourselves courage.

“Upon my word, you’re beginning to worry me,” said the doctor, still making an effort to laugh. “Are you hiding a corpse?”

I said that he certainly couldn’t have the slightest notion of the surprise I had in store for him. Then I took my courage in both hands and said, “All right, let’s go up.”

I walked up the stairs before him. I listened at the door. Nothing. Sylva must be asleep. I knocked with my fist to wake her up and did indeed hear her trot. Then I opened the door wide and pushed the doctor in before me.