Lad trotted up to him, the tiny white feet noiseless in the soft
dust of the drive. The man did not see him, but passed so close
to the dog's hospitably upthrust nose that he all but touched it.

Only slightly rebuffed at such chill lack of cordiality, Lad fell
in behind him, tail awag, and followed him to the porch. When the
guest should ring the bell, the Master or one of the maids would
come to the door. There would be lights and talk; and perhaps
Laddie himself might be allowed to slip in to his beloved cave.

But the man did not ring. He did not stop at the door at all. On
tiptoe he skirted the veranda to the old-fashioned bay windows at
the south side of the living room; windows with catches as
old-fashioned and as simple to open as themselves.

Lad padded along, a pace or so to the rear;--still hopeful of
being petted or perhaps even romped with. The man gave a faint
but promising sign of intent to romp, by swinging his small and
very shiny brown bag to and fro as he walked. Thus ever did the
Master swing Lad's precious canton flannel doll before throwing
it for him to retrieve. Lad made a tentative snap at the bag, his
tail wagging harder than ever. But he missed it. And, in another
moment the man stopped swinging the bag and tucked it under his
arm again as he began to mumble with a bit of steel.

There was the very faintest of clicks. Then, noiselessly the
window slid upward. A second fumbling sent the wooden inside
shutters ajar. The man worked with no uncertainty. Ever since his
visit to the Place, a week earlier, behind the aegis of a big and
bright and newly forged telephone-inspector badge, he had carried