had put her hand to the plough Enid's quick brain saw her through. But
she would have been hard put to it to deceive Henson under his very nose
without the help of the bloodhound. Now she could see her way still
farther. She waited nervously for a ring from the lodge-gates to the
house, and about four o'clock it came. The undertaker was at the gates
waiting for an escort to the Grange.

Enid passed her tongue out over a pair of dry lips. The critical moment
was at hand. If she could get through the next hour she was safe. If
not--but there must be no "if not," she told herself. The undertaker
came, suave, quiet, respectful, but he dropped back from the bedroom door
as he saw two gleaming, amber eyes regarding him menacingly.

"The dog loved my sister," Enid explained, quietly. "But he has found
his way to her room, and he refuses to move. He fancies that we have
done something her.... Oh, no, I couldn't poison him! And it would be a
dreadful thing if there were to be anything like a struggle _here_.
Come, Rollo."

Evidently the dog had learned his lesson well. He wagged his great tail,
but refused to move. The undertaker took a couple of steps forward and
Rollo's crest rose. There was a flash of white teeth and a growl. At the
end of half an hour no progress had been made.

"There's only one thing for it," suggested Williams, in his rusty voice.
"We can get the dog away for ten minutes at midnight. He likes a run
then, and I'll bring the other dogs to fetch him, like."

"My time is very valuable just now," the undertaker suggested, humbly.