what woke me. The house was strangely silent and still; the air
seemed stretched and laden. It was summer. Perhaps it was the
heat. I only knew that I woke suddenly and blinked in the
darkness.

In the next room with the door open I could hear the heavy
breathing of the detective. A heavy feeling lay against my heart.
I had grown accustomed to dread and isolation; but this was
different. Perhaps it was premonition. I do not know. And yet I
was terribly sleepy; I remember that.

I struck a match and looked at my watch on the bureau--twelve
thirty-five. No sound--not even Queen--not even a rumble from the
streets. I lay back and dropped into slumber. Just as I drifted
off to sleep I had a blurring fancy of sound, guttural, whining,
fearful--then suddenly drifting into incoherent rumbling
phantasms--a dream. I awoke suddenly. Someone was speaking. It was
Jerome.

"Harry!"

I was frightened. It was like something clutching out of the
darkness. I sat up. I didn't answer. It wasn't necessary. The
incoherence of my dream had been external. The library was just
below me. I could hear the dog pacing to and fro, and her
snarling. Snarling? It was just that. It was something to arouse
terror.

She had never growled like that--I was positive, I could hear her
suddenly leap back from the curtains. She barked. Never before had