could not himself hear. He watched the dog
curiously. The dog gave a low growl of fear and rage, and made for the
office door. He began scratching at the threshold, and emitted a perfect
volley of barks. It did not sound like one dog, but a whole pack.
Gordon, with an impulse which he could not understand, quickly put out
the prism-fringed lamp which hung over his table. Then he sprang to the
dog, and had the dog by the collar. "Be still, Jack," he said in a low
voice, and the dog obeyed instantly, although he was quivering under his
hand. Gordon could feel the muscles run like angry serpents under the
smooth white hair, he felt the crest of rage along his back. But the
animal was so well trained that he barked no more. He only growled very
softly, as if to himself, and quivered.

Gordon ordered him to charge in a whisper, and the dog stretched himself
at his feet, although it was like the crouch of a live wire. Then Gordon
rose and went softly to a window beside the door. The office had very
heavy red curtains. It was impossible, since they were closely drawn,
that a ray of light from within should have been visible outside. Gordon
had reasoned it out quickly when he extinguished the lamp. Whoever was
without would have had no possible means of knowing that anything except
the dog was in the office, but the light once out, Gordon could peep
around the curtain and ascertain, without being himself seen, what or
who was about. He had a premonition of what he should see, and he saw
it. The stable door was almost directly opposite that of the office.
Between the two doors there was a driveway. On this driveway the only
pale thing to be seen in the darkness was the tall, black figure of a
man standing perfectly still, as if watching. His attitude was
unmistakable. The long lines of him, upreared from the pale streak of
the driveway, were as plainly to be read as a sign-post. They signified
watchfulness. His back was toward the office. He stood face toward the
curve of the drive toward the road, where any one entering would first
be seen. Gordon, peeping around his curtain, knew the dark figure as he
would have known his own shadow. In one sense it had been for years his
shadow, and that added to the horror of it. The man behind the curtain
watched, the man in the drive watched; and the dog, crouched at the
threshold of the door, watched with what sublimated sense God alone
knew, which enabled him to know as much as his maste