Before an hour had elapsed the drug began its work. Mrs. Oleander nodded over her knitting; Sally was drowsy over her dishes; Peter yawned audibly before the fire.
"I don't know what makes me so sleepy this evening," Mrs. Oleander said, gaping. "The weak tea, I suppose. Peter, close up early to-night; I think I'll go to bed."
"I'll let the dogs loose now," said Peter. "I'm blamed sleepy myself."
The old man departed. Very soon the hoarse barking of the dogs was heard as they scampered out of their kennel. Peter returned to find the two old women nodding in company.
"You had better go to bed," suggested Mrs. Sharpe. "I'm going myself. Good-night."
She quitted the kitchen. Mrs. Oleander, scarcely able to keep her eyes open, rose up also.
"I will go. I never felt so sleepy in my life. Good-night; Sally."
"Good-night," said Sally, drowsily. "I'll go after you."
Before the kitchen clock struck nine, sleep had sealed the eyelids of Mrs. Oleander and her servants more tightly than they were ever sealed before. And out in the yard, stiff and stark, lay Nero and Tiger. They had eaten the poisoned beef, and, like faithful sentinels, were dead at their posts.