It was a huge Cuban bloodhound, a wicked-looking beast. The animal had evidently just come out of the stable, the front of which was only partly visible to the detectives, and he was now trotting across the lawn toward the rear door of the house.
“I believe you are right,” rejoined Chick. “He looks as if he might bolt a man with a single mouthful.”
“Dead easy,” nodded Patsy.
“If we have work to do here after dark,” said Chick, “we’d best keep that fellow in mind.”
“Rather.”
“He’d put up an uglier fight than the entire bunch we’ve seen so far.”
“That’s right, Chick.”
“We’ve seen only four as yet.”
“Badger and his wife, whom we saw from the front,” counted Patsy. “The middle-aged woman at work in the kitchen yonder, and the covey we’ve seen about the stable. That makes four, Chick; sure as you’re a foot high.”
“I begin to think there are no others.”