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He sat a while longer, but there was no sign that any more creatures like the thing which lay dead at his feet were going to appear. It was raining now, melting away the deep snow. His footprints were devolving, flowers pushing up through the muddy gaps with unnatural alacrity. There'd be no tracing them soon. He wiped off his sword with his handkerchief before sliding it back into the cane he would need on this uncertain ground.
That way to the Lamp-post, he told himself, and beyond it, with luck, will be the wardrobe and Mrs. Hudson's spare room.