"
"I'll be damned if there isn't one snuffling at that outer door,"
said Jimmy, and went quickly out into the passage. I heard the lock
click back and, upon the noise, a scuffle and gallop of a four-footed
beast: and, with that, a great yellow dog burst in at the doorway of
the room, took a leap forward, crouched, and slowly stiffened itself
up with its legs, its back hunched and bristling. There it stood,
letting out its voice in a growl that sounded almost like a groan of
satisfied desire.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Jimmy, following. "If this isn't your
Billy, Professor, come to life!"
And I, too, cast a quick glance over my shoulder at Foe--against whom
the hound evidently stiffened, as a pointer at its game. Foe, white
as a sheet, was leaning back, his shoulders propped against the edge
of the mantelshelf.
"He is not my dog," he gasped out. "Take him away: he's dangerous!"
"Looks so, anyway," said Jimmy calmly. "Well, if he's not your dog,
here's his owner to claim him."--And into the room, staring around on
us, walked Farrell.
For the moment I stared at him as at a total stranger.
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