f with a small grumbling of protest. He was an Irish terrier,
but there was nothing Sinn Fein about him.

Aubrey dropped to the floor, and patted the dog, thanking his good
fortune. He glanced about the cellar as though expecting to find some
lurking horror. Nothing more appalling than several cases of beer
bottles met his eyes. He started quietly to go up the cellar stairs,
and Bock, evidently consumed with legitimate curiosity, kept at his
heels.

"Look here," thought Aubrey. "I don't want the dog following me all
through the house. If I touch anything he'll probably take a hunk out
of my shin."

He unlocked the door into the yard, and Bock obeying the Irish
terrier's natural impulse to get into the open air, ran outside.
Aubrey quickly closed the door again. Bock's face appeared at the
broken window, looking in with so quaint an expression of indignant
surprise that Aubrey almost laughed. "There, old man," he said, "it's
all right. I'm just going to look around a bit."

He ascended the stairs on tiptoe and found himself in the kitchen. All
was quiet. An alarm clock ticked with a stumbling, headlong hurry.
Pots of geraniums stood on the window sill. The range, with its lids
off and the fire carefully nourished, radiated a mild warmth. Through
a dark little pantry he entered the dining room. Still no sign of
anything amiss. A pot of white heather stood on the table, and a
corncob pipe lay on the sideboard. "This is the most innocent-looking
kidnapper's den I ever heard of," he thought. "Any moving-picture
director would be ashamed not to provide a better stage-set."

At that instant he heard footsteps overhead. Curiously soft, muffled
footsteps. Instantly he was on the alert. Now he would know the worst.

A window upstairs was thrown open. "Bock, what are you doing in the
yard?" floated a voice--a very clear, imperious voice that somehow made
him think of the thin ringing of a fine glass tumbler. It was Titania.

He stood aghast. Then he heard a door open, and steps on the stair.
Merciful heaven, the girl must not find him here. What WOULD she
think? He skipped back into the pantry, and shrank into a corner. He
heard the footfalls reach the bottom of the stairs. There was a door
into the kitchen from the central hall: it was not necessary for her
to pass through the pantry, he thought. He heard her enter the kitchen.

In his anxiety he crouched down beneath the sink, and his foot, b