intruder by the throat; a thousand crimson and blue stars danced before
the wretched man's eyes; he grappled with his foe with one last
despairing effort, and then there came over him a vague, warm
unconsciousness. When he came to himself he was lying on his bed, with
Williams and Enid bending over him.

"How did it happen?" Enid asked, with simulated anxiety.

"I--I was walking along the corridor," Henson gasped, "going--going to
bed, you see; and one of those diabolical dogs must have got into the
house. Before I knew what I was doing the creature flew at my throat and
dragged me to the floor. Telephone for Walker at once. I am dying,
Williams."

He fell back once more utterly lost to his surroundings. There was a
great, gaping, raw wound at the side of the throat that caused Enid
to shudder.

"Do you think he is--dead, Williams?" she asked.

"No such luck as that," Williams said, with the air of a confirmed
pessimist. "I hope you locked that there bedroom door and put the key in
your pocket, miss. I suppose we'd better send for the doctor, unless you
and me puts him out of his misery. There's one comfort, however, Mr.
Henson will be in bed for the next fortnight, at any rate, so he'll be
powerless to do any prying about the house. The funeral will be over long
before he's about again."

* * * * *