"But it was so terrible—so threatening!"
"It's the way of dogs at night. They're apt to revert to type at an hour like this." The Professor's grip relaxed. "To tell the truth, I'm far more thrilled than I sound. It reminds me of sheep-hunting dogs back East."
A low sob broke from her. At the same instant the Professor hissed a warning.
"But there are no dogs on the Red Deer," she sobbed, "none like that."
"The night magnifies them. But where's your husband?"
"He went out—long ago——"
A gruff voice from the corner of the house stopped her with a gasp.
"Mary, when you've finished your midnight conversation with a man through his bedroom window, we'll go to bed."
"Oh, Jim! I was frightened. I couldn't stay in there alone." A double terror was in her voice now.
Stamford ground his teeth in his impotence. Cockney's big bulk loomed before the window.