At the end of an hour he had decided that it would be murder, and no less, to let Stamboul track Goddard to his hiding-place. The hound might accompany him in his walks, and if anybody attacked him it would be so much the worse for his assailant. Murder or no murder, he was entitled to take any precautions he pleased against an assault. But he would not willingly put the bloodhound on the scent, and he knew well enough that the dog would not run upon a strange trail unless he were put to it. The squire went to his lunch, feeling that he had made a good resolution; but he ate little and soon afterwards began to feel the need of going down to see Mrs. Goddard. No day was complete without seeing her, and considering the circumstances which had occurred on the previous afternoon, it was natural that he should call to inquire after her state. In the hall, the gigantic beast which had played such an important part in his thoughts during the morning, came solemnly up to him, raising his great red eyes as though asking whether he were to accompany his master. The squire stood still and looked at him for a moment.
"Come along, Stamboul!" he said suddenly, as he put on his hat. The hound leaped up and laid his heavy paws on the squire's shoulders, trying to lick his face in his delight, then, almost upsetting the sturdy man he sprang back, slipped on the polished floor, recovered himself and with an enormous stride bounded past Mr. Juxon, out into the park. But Mr. Juxon quickly called him back, and presently he was following close at heel in his own stately way, looking neither to the right nor to the left. The squire felt nervous, and the sensation was new to him. He did not believe that Goddard would really attack him at all, certainly not that he would dare to attack him in broad daylight. But the knowledge of the threat the fellow had uttered made him watchful. He glanced to the right and left as he walked and gripped his heavy blackthorn stick firmly in his hand. He wished that if the man were to appear he would come quickly—it might be hard to hold Stamboul back if he were attacked unawares.
He reached the gate, crossed the road and rang the bell of the cottage. As he stood waiting, Stamboul smelled the ground, put up his head, smelled it again and with his nose down trotted slowly to the window on the left hand of the door. He smelled the ground, the wall and presently put both his fore paws upon the outer ledge of the window. Then he dropped again, and looked at his master. Martha was a long time in coming to the door.
"After him, Stamboul!" said the squire, almost unconsciously. The dog put his nose down and began to move slowly about. At that moment the door opened.
"Oh, sir," said Martha, "it's you, sir. I was to say, if you please, that if you called, Mrs. Goddard was poorly to-day, sir."
"Dear me!" said Mr. Juxon, "I hope she is not ill. Is it anything serious, Martha?"
"Well, sir, she's been down this mornin', but her head ached terrible bad and she went back to her room—oh, sir, your dog—he's a runnin' home."
As she spoke a sound rang in the air that made Martha start back. It was a deep, resounding, bell-like note, fierce and wild, rising and falling, low but full, with a horror indescribable in its echo—the sound which no man who has heard it ever forgets—the baying of a bloodhound on the track of a man.
The squire turned deadly pale, but he shouted with all his might, as he would have shouted to a man on the topsail yard in a gale at sea.
"Stamboul! Stamboul! Stamboul!" Again and again he yelled the dog's name.