but figuratively. She sprang back, snapping; her teeth bared, her
hair bristled. Her nostrils drawn. With one bound she leaped
between the curtains.

Jerome jumped up. With an exclamation he drew the portieres. I was
behind him. The dog was standing at the edge of the room,
bristling.

The room was empty. What did she see? What?

One thing was certain. Though we were sure of nothing else we were
certain of the Rhamda. We could trust the canine's instinct. Every
previous experiment we had essayed had been crowned with success.
We had here a fact but no explanation. If we could only put things
together and extract the law.

It was late when we retired. I could not sleep. The restlessness
of the dog held back my slumber. She would growl sullenly, then
stir about for a new position; she was never quite still. I could
picture her there in the library, behind the curtains, crouched,
half resting, half slumbering, always watching. I would awaken in
the night and listen; a low guttural warning, a sullen whine--then
stillness. It was the same with my companion. We could never quite
understand it. Perhaps we were a bit afraid.

But one can become accustomed to almost anything. It went on for
many nights without anything happening, until one night.

It was dark, exceedingly dark, with neither moon nor starlight;
one of those nights of inky intenseness. I cannot say just exactly