Sarah nodded.
"Yes—how?"
"I have it all arranged. Miss Dane must escape to-night. Look at this."
He pointed to a basket at his feet.
Mrs. Sharpe lifted the cover, and saw two lumps of raw beef.
"Well?" she asked, wonderingly.
"'A sop for Cerberus,'" laughed Hugh Ingelow; "a supper for the dogs. They'll never want another after."
"What do you mean?"
"The meat is poisoned; there is strychnine enough in these two pieces to kill a dozen dogs. I mean to throw that to them this evening."
"But how?"