"Half-dead with fright, but only too thankful to find that we had now
regained the use of our limbs, we left our spoil and ran for our lives
in the direction of the wall.
"We dared not look back, but we knew the figure followed us, for we
heard its footsteps close at our heels; and never to my dying day
shall I forget the sound--rat-tat, tat, rat-tat, tat--for all the
world like the beat of a muffled drum.
"How we ever managed to reach the wall I could never tell, but as we
scrambled over it, regardless of man-traps and bruises, and plunged
into the heather on the other side, we heard the weird footsteps
receding in the direction of the castle, and, ere we had reached home,
the rat-tat, tat, rat-tat, tat, had completely died away.
"We told no one a word of what had happened, and a few days after,
simultaneously with the death of one of the Airlies, we learned, for
the first time, the story of the Phantom Drummer.
"I have little doubt," Mr. Porter added, in conclusion, "that the
figure we took to be a keeper was the prophetic Drummer, for I can
assure you there was no possibility of hoaxers, especially in such
ill-omened guise, anywhere near the Cortachy estate."
Poor old Mr. Porter! He did not long survive our _rencontre_. When I
next visited the hotel, some months later, I was genuinely grieved to
hear of his decease. His story had greatly fascinated me, for I love
the solitude of the pines, and have myself from time to time witnessed
many remarkable occult phenomena under the shadow of their lofty
summits.
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