affably. ‘I will respect your confidence.’
‘I understand the Count has a well-equipped laboratory which can be made available if you need to do any elaborate tests,’ Coleridge said.
Menlow opened his mouth to reply, but the sentence was never uttered.
A dark shadow passed at the edge of the trees, and at the same moment a loud explosion startled the ears and reverberated with hideous suddenness across the icy landscape.
CHAPTER 11: ENTER THE COLONEL
Coleridge became aware of flame and a puff of smoke as another crash awoke the echoes. The great grey-black wolf went by very fast about a hundred feet away, a blurred impression between the dark tree boles, splinters of ice thrown up in long plumes from its claws.
The party on the bridge spanning the pool beneath the waterfall were as still and solid as the frozen water suspended in a composition of hoary spray. The wolf was in the far distance now. It moved with incredible speed, and Coleridge realised, as a big man in a fur coat came out in a clearing below them, that it was putting the tree-boles between itself and the menace of the rifle. The man swore in a heavy guttural accent and flung up his unoccupied hand in a gesture of disgust.
The scattered groups were breaking up as though they had thawed and liquefied, and the murmur of startled conversation came up to the two men by the spiralling path. Coleridge stood stock-still, his heart pounding slightly, watching the faint grey image which imperceptibly merged with the darkness of the tree-line.
The paw-marks clawed in the snow were clear-printed on the slope and widely spaced. The brute had been immense and of high intelligence because it had taken the only angle in its upward flight at which the man below had been unable to use his weapon. Somehow it knew this, and Coleridge was impressed more than he cared to admit with its reasoning power.
He had a sudden, absurd idea that the scrap of fur in the envelope in Menlow’s pocket had come from the same great beast. It was ridiculous, of course. His host had said, and the sledge-driver’s earlier conversation confirmed, that there were many wolves in these parts.
The girl’s story had affected him more than he realised, and he thrust the thought impatiently back in his mind as he and Menlow hurried down the path to where the man with the rifle stood as though in solemn thought.
Coleridge felt in his bones that the beast they had just seen was the one the whole village had been talking about, but he kept silent, putting his gloved hands deep into his capacious pockets, listening to the bewildered voices as the other members of the party converged on the big man as though he were some magnetic source of attraction. He stood with easy confidence, his legs in the heavy leather riding boots thrust widely apart.
He wore a military-looking cap on his head, which bore some tarnished badge which glinted dully in the low winter light, and there were scarlet epaulettes on the shoulders of his heavy fur coat where pieces of leather had been specially let into them.
There was a black belt buckled round his waist, and the butt of a revolver protruded from a leather matching holster, the white lanyard from the metal ring in the butt leading to one of the heavy metal buttons of his coat. He turned as the two men came up.
They were the first on the scene, and he rested the rifle barrel against a nearby tree and straightened himself. Coleridge had the impression of a great, watchful face with hooded eyes and a heavy black moustache. The lips were thick beneath the moustache but not unhumorous. He gave a stiff half-bow and briefly touched the peak of his cap in a military salute.
‘Ezredes Anton!’ he said in a clear, clipped voice that was used to command.
‘Colonel Anton,’ Menlow translated. ‘The gentleman the Count was telling us about. He is the Chief of Police hereabouts.’
Coleridge went forward to take the colonel’s extended hand. He felt his fingers
‘I understand the Count has a well-equipped laboratory which can be made available if you need to do any elaborate tests,’ Coleridge said.
Menlow opened his mouth to reply, but the sentence was never uttered.
A dark shadow passed at the edge of the trees, and at the same moment a loud explosion startled the ears and reverberated with hideous suddenness across the icy landscape.
CHAPTER 11: ENTER THE COLONEL
Coleridge became aware of flame and a puff of smoke as another crash awoke the echoes. The great grey-black wolf went by very fast about a hundred feet away, a blurred impression between the dark tree boles, splinters of ice thrown up in long plumes from its claws.
The party on the bridge spanning the pool beneath the waterfall were as still and solid as the frozen water suspended in a composition of hoary spray. The wolf was in the far distance now. It moved with incredible speed, and Coleridge realised, as a big man in a fur coat came out in a clearing below them, that it was putting the tree-boles between itself and the menace of the rifle. The man swore in a heavy guttural accent and flung up his unoccupied hand in a gesture of disgust.
The scattered groups were breaking up as though they had thawed and liquefied, and the murmur of startled conversation came up to the two men by the spiralling path. Coleridge stood stock-still, his heart pounding slightly, watching the faint grey image which imperceptibly merged with the darkness of the tree-line.
The paw-marks clawed in the snow were clear-printed on the slope and widely spaced. The brute had been immense and of high intelligence because it had taken the only angle in its upward flight at which the man below had been unable to use his weapon. Somehow it knew this, and Coleridge was impressed more than he cared to admit with its reasoning power.
He had a sudden, absurd idea that the scrap of fur in the envelope in Menlow’s pocket had come from the same great beast. It was ridiculous, of course. His host had said, and the sledge-driver’s earlier conversation confirmed, that there were many wolves in these parts.
The girl’s story had affected him more than he realised, and he thrust the thought impatiently back in his mind as he and Menlow hurried down the path to where the man with the rifle stood as though in solemn thought.
Coleridge felt in his bones that the beast they had just seen was the one the whole village had been talking about, but he kept silent, putting his gloved hands deep into his capacious pockets, listening to the bewildered voices as the other members of the party converged on the big man as though he were some magnetic source of attraction. He stood with easy confidence, his legs in the heavy leather riding boots thrust widely apart.
He wore a military-looking cap on his head, which bore some tarnished badge which glinted dully in the low winter light, and there were scarlet epaulettes on the shoulders of his heavy fur coat where pieces of leather had been specially let into them.
There was a black belt buckled round his waist, and the butt of a revolver protruded from a leather matching holster, the white lanyard from the metal ring in the butt leading to one of the heavy metal buttons of his coat. He turned as the two men came up.
They were the first on the scene, and he rested the rifle barrel against a nearby tree and straightened himself. Coleridge had the impression of a great, watchful face with hooded eyes and a heavy black moustache. The lips were thick beneath the moustache but not unhumorous. He gave a stiff half-bow and briefly touched the peak of his cap in a military salute.
‘Ezredes Anton!’ he said in a clear, clipped voice that was used to command.
‘Colonel Anton,’ Menlow translated. ‘The gentleman the Count was telling us about. He is the Chief of Police hereabouts.’
Coleridge went forward to take the colonel’s extended hand. He felt his fingers
Similar Books
