Two grim muzzles were pressed against his trembling knees; he saw four
rows of ivory flashing in the dim light. Then the dogs crouched at his
feet, watching him with eyes as red and lurid as the point of his own
cigar. Had he attempted to move, had he tried coercion, they would have
fallen upon him and torn him in pieces.
"Confusion to the creatures!" he cried, passionately. "I'll get a
revolver; I'll buy some prussic acid and poison the lot. And here I'll
have to stay till Williams locks up the stables. Wouldn't that little
Jezebel laugh at me if she could see me now? She would enjoy it better
than singing songs in the drawing-room to our sainted Margaret. Steady,
you brutes! I didn't move."
He stood there rigidly, almost afraid to take the cigar from his lips,
whilst Enid sped without further need for caution down the drive. The
lodge-gates were closed and the deaf porter's house in darkness, so that
Enid could unlock the wicket without fear of detection. She rattled the
key on the bars and a figure slipped out of the darkness.
"Good heavens, Ruth, is it really _you_?" Enid cried.
"Really me, Enid.
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