A less suspicious man would have retired at
once; a man less engaged upon his task would have seen two great amber
eyes close to the floor.
"An old woman's fancy," he muttered. "Still, as I am here, I'll make
sure that--"
He stretched out his hand to touch the marble forehead, there was a snarl
and a gurgle, and Henson came to the ground with a hideous crash that
carried him staggering beyond the door into the corridor. Rollo had the
intruder by the throat; a thousand crimson and blue stars danced before
the wretched man's eyes; he grappled with his foe with one last
despairing effort, and then there came over him a vague, warm
unconsciousness. When he came to himself he was lying on his bed, with
Williams and Enid bending over him.
"How did it happen?" Enid asked, with simulated anxiety.
"I--I was walking along the corridor," Henson gasped, "going--going to
bed, you see; and one of those diabolical dogs must have got into the
house. Before I knew what I was doing the creature flew at my throat and
dragged me to the floor. Telephone for Walker at once. I am dying,
Williams."
He fell back once more utterly lost to his surroundings.
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