“Now, Mr Hampton,” he said, “if my suspicions are right, there are no bottles behind there, but—what we seek.”
“Then, in heaven’s name, sir, satisfy yourself, and let’s end—Good God!”
He started back, clapping the handkerchief he held to his nose and mouth, as George Harrington thrust his arm through the opening, and drew back a handful of lime, while the dog uttered a hoarse, low growl, and a horrible odour slowly made its way into the cellar where they stood.
Then they started towards the door, for the dog leaped up, barking furiously, as distant cries were heard, sounding muffled and strange, and they could distinguish their names.
By the time they reached the opening George Harrington had first made, the dog was through, and George followed, thrusting his hand back to take the candle.
“Come along, sir, quick!” he said, “and mind the ladies are not told—yet.”
The old lawyer crept through trembling, the cries being plain now those of appeals for help, the dog’s loud barking adding to the excitement, as he stood by the inner door.
But George Harrington did not lose his head. He threw open the inner door, and passed through the first.
“Now close and lock that, sir,” he said, as he laid his hand on the key in the outer door. “Down, Bruno!” he cried in a deep, threatening tone, as the inner door was locked. “Watch, sir. Watch!”
The dog responded with a threatening growl, and tore at the outer door.