"Were there two very tall poplars, one on either side of the brook?" the innkeeper asked; "and did you notice a peculiar—one cannot describe it as altogether unpleasant—smell there?"
"We did!" the Count and Countess exclaimed in chorus.
"Then it was the spot locally known as Wolf Hollow," the innkeeper said. "No one ventures there after dark, as it has a very evil reputation."
"Stuff and nonsense!" the Count snapped.
"That is as your honour pleases," the innkeeper said humbly. "We village folk believe it to be haunted; but, of course, if the subject appears ridiculous to you, I will take care I do not refer to it again."
"Please do!" the Countess cried. "I love anything to do with the supernatural. Tell us all about it."
The innkeeper gave a little nervous cough, and glancing uneasily at the Count, whose face looked more than usually stern in the fading sunlight, observed: "They do say, madam, that whoever drinks the water of that stream——"
"Yes, yes?" the Countess cried eagerly.
"Suffers a grave misfortune."
"Of what nature?" the Countess demanded; but before the innkeeper could answer, the Count cut in:—
