He seemed to lose confidence a little at this point; but Sir Clinton encouraged him by a show of interest.
“Last night,” he went on, “I was goin’ through the wood at the back o’ the house—about eleven o’clock it was, as near as I can make it. At the back o’ the house there’s a strip of woodland, then a little bit of a clearin’, and then the rest of the wood. I’d come out o’ the bigger bit o’ the wood and got most o’ the way across the clearin’ when it happened. I can tell you just where it was, for I was passin’ the old ruin there—the Knight’s Tower they call it.”
He paused for a moment or two, evidently finding continuous narrative rather a strain.
“The moon was well up by that time. It’s just past the full these days; and the place was as clear as day. Everythin’ was quiet, except an old owl that lives in a hollow tree up by there. I could hear the swish of my feet in the grass and mighty little else; for the grass was dewy and made a lot o’ noise with my stepping through it. Well, as I was goin’ along, all of a sudden I heard a shot. It sounded close by me; an’ I turned at once. There’s a poachin’ chap that’s given me a lot o’ trouble, an’ I didn’t put it past him to think he might be tryin’ to give me a scare. But when I turned round there was nothin’ to be seen. There was nothin’ there at all; an’ yet that shot had come from quite close by.”
“Did it sound like the report of a shot-gun?” Sir Clinton asked.
Mold seemed to be in a difficulty.
“Shot-gun sounds I know fairly well. ’T weren’t from a shot-gun. More like a pistol-shot it sounded, when I’d had time to think over it. An’ yet it weren’t altogether like a pistol-shot, neither. That’s a sharp sound. This was more booming-like, if you understand me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite see it yet, Mold,” Sir Clinton admitted. “I know how difficult it is to describe sounds, though. Have another try. Did it remind you of anything?”
A light seemed to flicker for a moment in Mold’s memory.
“I know!” he exclaimed. “It was like this. I’ve got it! Did you ever stand at the door of our Morris-tube range in the village while there was firin’ goin’ on inside? Well, this was somethin’ like that, only more so. I mean as if they’d fired somethin’ a bit heavier than a miniature rifle. That’s it! That’s just how it sounded.”