Merritt pulled up, panting with his exertion.
"Gone to cover," he muttered. "I don't fancy I'll follow. The dogs there
might have a weakness for tearing my throat out and Henson will keep,
I'll just hang about here till daylight and wait for my gentleman. And
I'll follow him to the end of the earth."
Meanwhile Henson blundered on blindly, fully under the impression that Merritt was still upon his trail. One of the hounds, a puppy three parts grown, rose and playfully pulled at his coat. It was sheer play, but at the same time it was a terrible handicap, and in his fear Henson lost all his horror of the dogs.
"Loose, you brute," he panted. "Let go, I say. Very well, take that!"
He paused and brought the heavy stake down full on the dog's muzzle. There was a snarling scream of pain, and the big pup sprang for his assailant. An old, grey hound came up and seemed to take in the situation at a glance. With a deep growl he bounded at Henson and caught him by the throat. Before the ponderous impact of that fine free spring Henson went down heavily to the ground.
"Help!" he gurgled. "Help! help! help!"
The worrying teeth had been firmly fixed, the ponderous weight pressed all the breath from Henson's distressed lungs. He gurgled once again, gave a little shuddering sigh, and the world dwindled to a thick sheet of blinding darkness.
CHAPTER LVII
HIDE-AND-SEEK
Bell's professional enthusiasm got the better of his curiosity for the moment. It was a nice psychological problem. Already Steel was impulsively busy in the conservatory pulling the pots down. It was a regretful thing to have to do, but everything had to be sacrificed, David shut his teeth grimly and proceeded with his task.