"Go on. I will be at the house, and will try to hold them back if there is any noise."
As Owen began to wheel his cycle up the drive to Castle Marvin, Balthazar and his two aides wriggled through the hedge-row, crossed a strip of sward and reached the bench. Balthazar caught the dog's head in his powerful hands. There was not a sound. The animal's muzzle was shut fast and in a minute it had been tied, leg and body. They ran to the gate, to the runabout, and were away.
"Why Harry, I can't find him anywhere. What could have happened to him?" cried Pauline, rushing into the library.
"Owen lost? Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed fervently.
"No; Cyrus. Harry it's your fault. He was angry because you pushed him off the bench and he ran away."
"Polly," he said, wheeling in his chair, "I am not worried. I decline to be worried. And I am going away from here."
"Not before you help me find Cyrus."
"Yes—long before."
She turned and whisked crossly out of the room.
Harry picked up his hat and coat, and in a few minutes was being driven away by Farrell on an urgent call to town.