The collie stepped forward to investigate. The nerve-smashed
Higham saw him coming; and thrust out one gloved hand in
frightened rebuff.

The flicking gesture was unpleasantly like a blow. As the
menacing hand slapped toward his jaws, Lad caught at it, in wary
self-defense.

He recalled this man, now. He remembered he had been bidden to
"watch" him. He did not spring at his assailant. But a warning
snap answered the frenzied thrust of the hand. His teeth closed
lightly on the glove-fingers, just as Higham, in fear, jerked
back his arm.

The loose glove came away in the dog's mouth.

Colonel Osbourne, wheeling about to demand some explanation of
his kennel-manager, beheld a bare hand as vividly crimson as
Lochaber King's ruined coat.

"Laddie," observed the Mistress, that evening, as she placed on
the top trophy-shelf an embossed silver cup, antique, and nine
inches high, and stood back pride fully, to note the effect.
"Laddie, I know--I just KNOW,--you'd have won it, even if poor
Lochaber King had competed. But,--oh, I wish I could make head or
tail of any of the things that have happened, today! How do you
suppose it all started, anyhow, dear?" she asked, turning to her
husband for help in the riddle.