He faced toward the great stone house as he spoke, and in the darkness a smile came upon his face.
“I don’t suppose they’d be willing to lend if I went there and candidly explained what I meant to do,” he proceeded. “So the best thing I can do is to borrow first and take the risk of explaining afterward—that is, if I can find the barn in the dark.”
He sprang upon the wall and then down on the other side. As he made his way cautiously around the house he saw that all the lights, save one at the front, were out.
“There’s not much chance of my being seen—by humans, anyway,” he muttered. “But if they have any dogs about, they’ll be more likely to scent me than not.”
The words had scarcely left his lips when there came a tremendous barking and the swift rush of a heavy body toward him. Luckily the brute was of a light color and the boy caught a vague glimpse of it as it bounded at him. Swinging the cudgel over his head, he brought it down with a free, double-handed sweep; there was a moaning yelp and the dog lay motionless at his feet.
“A lucky blow,” said the young mountaineer, as he jeered down at the stricken beast. “But unlucky for you, old fellow,” with a sudden qualm, “for I suppose you were only doing what it was your nature to do, after all.”
But he had little time for remorse. The great door of Cliveden opened; a servant appeared upon the threshold holding a light above his head; a tall, aristocratic man stood beside him.
“Are you quite sure it was the dog, Henry?” asked the latter.
“Quite,” replied the servant.
There was a pause; then both bent their heads as though listening: then the first speaker remarked: