With a curse the master roused himself from the freezing spell. He took his loaded gun from its place over the chimney piece. He fired. One of the panes of glass was broken. Outside, on the cobbled yard, the gull lay dead, its glazed eyes fixed on the house.
With a laugh of triumph, Dominic re-lighted his pipe and sat down again by the fire. He had just settled once more to the reading of Grand-Mêle when a very tempest of wind and hail shook the house, and in the midst of it, a low, sharp knock fell on the house door.
This time, the master was not under a spell. He recognized the knock. In an instant he was in the entrance hall and had flung open the door. A rough, unkempt fisherman stood on the threshold.
"You must come at once, Monsieur," he cried, "there's been great luck! A lot of brandy has been brought, unexpected. It's to the cave below the Haunted House. We could have got it up the cliffs alone. But we all agreed that you must have your share in the fun."
"Quick! where did the stuff come from?"
"From France, from les Messieurs ——."
"Bon! Will you wait for me?"
"No, my horse is here—tied to the gate. He's impatient, him! I'll be off to tell the rest you're coming."
"I'll ride too," and Dominic slammed the door, and hurried to the back of the house where his horses were stabled for the night. He chose out a fleet white one that was used to wild rushes through the dark. Before he mounted, he fastened a pistol to the saddle; but he laughed as he did this, it was such a useless precaution. Never once yet had the excisemen appeared within miles of the Haunted House. With a dark lantern swinging from the saddle bow, he rode out of the farmyard and cantered up the hill. Then, urging the white mare to her swiftest pace, he flew through steep lanes, past Torteval Church, and along the high road to Pleinmont.