under peculiar circumstances. Three hours later he was in the bustling
Connecticut city. There he took carriage for the house of Mr. Curtis
Fleming, whose valuable Great Dane dog had been the last victim.

Mr. Curtis Fleming revealed himself as an elderly, gentleman all grown
to a point: pointed white nose, eyes that were pin-points of irascible
gleam, and a most pointed manner of speech.

"Who are you?" he demanded rancidly, as his visitor was ushered in.

Average Jones recognized the type. He knew of but one way to deal with
it.

"Jones!" he retorted with such astounding emphasis that the monosyllable
fairly exploded in the other's face.

"Well, well, well," said the elder man, his aspect suddenly mollified.
"Don't bite me. What kind of a Jones are you, and what do you want of
me?"

"Ordinary variety of Jones. I want to now about your dog."

"Reporter?"

"No."

"Glad of it. They're no good. Had my reporters on this case. Found
nothing."

"Your reporters?"

"I own the Bridgeport Delineator."

"What about the dog?"

"Good boy!" approved the old martinet. "Sticks to his point. Dog was
out walking with me day before yesterday. Crossing a vacant lot on
next square. Chased a rat. Rat ran into a heap of old timber. Dog nosed
around. Gave a yelp and came back to me. Had spasm. Died in fifteen
minutes. And hang me, sir," cried the old man, bringing his fist down
on Average Jones' knee, "if I see how the poison got him, for he was
muzzled to the snout, sir!"

"Muzzled? Then--er--why do, you--er--suggest poison?" drawled the young
man.

"Fourth dog to go the same way in the last week."

"All in this locality?"

"Yes, all on Golden Hill."

"Any suspicions?"

"Suspicions? Certainly, young man, certainly. Look at this."

Average Jones took the smutted newspaper proof which his host extended,
and read:

"WARNING-Residents of the Golden Hill neighborhood are earnestly
cautioned against unguarded handling of timber about woodpiles or
outbuildings until further notice. Danger!"

"When was this published?"

"Wasn't published. Delineator refused it. Thought it was a case of
insanity."

"Who offered it?"

"Professor Moseley. Tenant of mine. Frame house on the next corner with
old-fashioned conservatory."

"How long ago?"

"About a week."

"All the dogs you speak of died since then?"

"Yes."

"Did he give any explanation of the advertisement?"

"No. Acted half-crazy when he brought it to the