Directly Sam heard the whistle, he being now behind the
cages, he thrust his sacking-covered rod through the auger-hole he
had made from Finn's cage into the tiger's, and there rattled it to
and fro to attract the Killer's attention. Killer not only heard
and saw the intruding object, but smelt it, and sprang at it
violently, with a rasping, savage snarl which challenged the Giant
Wolf to come forward or be for ever accursed for a coward. The rod
was withdrawn on the instant, and Finn's whole great bulk crashed
against the partition, as he answered Killer with a roar of
defiance. The great Wolfhound stood erect on his hind-feet,
snapping at the air with foaming jaws, and tearing impotently at
the iron-sheathed partition with his powerful claws. The boss
applauded vigorously, and gave Sam a shilling for beer.

"You keep that up while the people are coming in, Sam, an' by gosh
we'll have 'em in fits. The Giant's a sure star performer, every
time. He's worth two or three of the Killer, when he prances round
on his tail that way. It was quite a bright notion o' yours, Sam,
that auger-hole."

It must have been nearly two hours later, when the public was being
admitted in a regular stream to the big tent, and Sam had succeeded
in working the tiger and the Wolfhound into a perfect frenzy of
impotent rage, of snarling, foaming, roaring fury, that a faint
odour crossed Finn's nostrils, and a faint sound fell upon his
ears, through all the din and tumult of the conflict with his
unseen enemy. In that moment, and as though he had been shot, Finn
dropped from his erect position, and bounded to the front bars of
his cage, with a sudden, appealing whine, very unlike the
formidable cries with which he had been rending the pent air of his
prison for the last quarter of an hour. He had heard a few words
spoken in a woman's voice, and those words were:--

"I cannot bear to look at them; I never do. Let us hurry straight
in."

In a passion of anxiety, and grief, and love, and remorse for not
having been on the look out, Finn poured out his very soul in a
succession of long-drawn whines, plaintive and insistent as a
'cello's wailings, while his powerful fore-paws tugged and
scratched ineffectually at the solid iron bars of his cage. The
woman whose voice he heard was the Mistress of the Kennels, and the
man to whom she spoke, who walked beside her, looking obstinately
at her and not at the cages, was the Master. Something seemed to