The dog looked up in his face, whined, and then swung round and going to the blank patch of whitewashed wall, threw up his head and howled.
“Yes, it must be rats,” said the old lawyer, “behind that bricked-up part. Try and drive him out.”
George Harrington turned sharply on the lawyer.
“Bricked-up part?” he said.
“Yes, there’s another cellar there through that arch, where old Mr Harrington laid down a quantity of wine for his grandson. Well, what is it? Yes; that’s the place.”
George had snatched the candle, and gone to the wall to hold the light close to the whitewashed bricks.
As he did so the dog grew more uneasy and excited, looking from one to the other, and barking at the wall.
“Well?” said the old lawyer, as his companion turned sharply and looked him full in the eyes.
“You said you did not understand dogs, Mr Hampton?”
“No, not a bit; but I think we ought to get this noisy brute out of the house.”