Abbott readily assented, and Mrs. Mackenzie led the way into an apartment between the sitting room and the parlor.
This, as Nick surmised, had been the private room of the late Miles Mackenzie.
A bed stood in one corner. At its foot was a door, partly ajar, which Nick’s quick eye observed gave entrance to a large clothes closet.
The dog followed them into this room also. Nick’s eyes never lost sight of the brute, though to an observer he was giving Rover no attention.
He saw the dog trot across to the closet, push the door further open with his nose, and look up toward the ceiling, while he uttered a very low whine.
The stout woman was right on Rover’s heels, and the toe of her heavy shoe gave him an admonishing punch in the ribs to indicate that his exit from the room and from that closet in particular was greatly desired.
And Rover took the prompt hint.
Nick’s back was turned nearly all the time, while the closet incident was occurring, and the stout woman no doubt said, in her soul:
“Thank Heaven! he didn’t see what the fool dog did!”
And Nick was thinking: