Here a broad walk among beeches dropped downwards to the two lodges. Skirting these, the party continued through the woods, came out for a bit on to rough pasture from which a magnificent view across the valley showed the huge, rather ugly modern house (which was now a college) backed by a grove of trees, and then, keeping the little church and some of the stone-built houses of the village to his left, Jonathan led the way towards a narrow spinney, a mere straggle of trees where the woods petered out on top of the windy rise.

At the end of the spinney was a gate. Jonathan stood still and pointed.

‘That’s where our ghost hangs out,’ he said. ‘I think it must be genuine. Anyhow, everybody round here believes in it. It’s supposed to be the local parson of about eighteen-fifty. He’s to be seen hanging over the gate, a most realistic-looking corpse, on moonlight nights at between twelve and one, although some people claim to have seen him during the afternoon.’

‘What is the story?’ Mrs Bradley enquired, going forward to inspect the gate, which was of the ordinary country pattern, and which opened on to some rough ground pitted with rabbit holes.

‘Nobody seems to know exactly. One story is that he was set on by robbers when he was coming back from visiting a dying parishioner, and another is that he had been celebrating rather too enthusiastically and just collapsed and died on the way home. He was found hanging over the gate and has haunted the place ever since. One can understand it if he was set upon, robbed and murdered, but if the other story is correct it’s not very easy to see why he can’t leave us alone. Dash it, he can’t want the village to know that their parson was tight!’

‘I expect he wanted to tell somebody something,’ suggested Deborah. ‘Which way are we going from here?’

‘Oh, across old Daventry’s fields, out on to the road, and as far as Tiny’s and Bill’s place. I rather want to see Tiny, and Aunt Adela may as well make his acquaintance, and Bill’s, too. They’ll be with us on Boxing Day, so she may as well meet them straight away.’

‘Tiny’s the agent,’ explained Deborah. ‘He agents for us and for the College. He’s a most useful person, because he knows all the people round here and has introduced us to most of them. But Bill, his cousin, is nicer.’

‘Yes, Bill’s a good chap,’ said Jonathan, ‘but I think you’ll like them both. Tiny’s right up your street, as a matter of fact. He used to be in the Indian police. You ought to have plenty to talk about. He’s got some amazing yarns.’