she come to that. Then a sudden lunge into the other room--a
vicious series of snapping barks, yelps--pandemonium--I could
picture her leaping--at what? Then suddenly I leaped out of bed.
The barks grew faint, faint, fainter--into the distance.

In the darkness I couldn't find the switch. I bumped into Jerome.
We were lost in our confusion. It was a moment before we could
find either a match or a switch to turn on the lights. But at
last--I shall not forget that moment; nor Jerome. He was rigid;
one arm held aloft, his eyes bulged out. The whole house was full
of sound--full-toned--vibrant--magnetic. It was the bell.

I jumped for the stairway, but not so quick as Jerome. With three
bounds we were in the library with the lights on. The sound was
running down to silence. We tore down the curtains and rushed into
the room. It was empty!

There was not even the dog. Queen had gone! In a vain rush of
grief I began calling and whistling. It was an overwhelming
moment. The poor, brave shepherd. She had seen it and rushed into
its face.

It was the last night I was to have Jerome. We sat up until
daylight. For the thousandth time we went over the house in
detail, but there was nothing. Only the ring. At the suggestion of
the detective I touched the match to the sapphire. It was the
same. The colour diminishing, and the translucent corridors
deepening into the distance; then the blur and the coming of
shadows--the men, Watson and the professor--and my dog.