“This way, Dr. Graves,” called the girl, beckoning him to the swing where my friend lay.
“Why, it’s Dr. Dorp!” said the young physician, taking the pulse of my friend. “What happened to him?”
“Asphyxiation,” I replied, “and exposure to extreme cold.”
Dr. Graves took a stethoscope from his case and used it for a few moments.
“The doctor has sustained quite a severe shock,” he said, “but he is doing nicely now. There is nothing I can give him or do for him at this stage which will help matters. Fresh air and warmth are our best allies now.”
My friend regained consciousness five minutes later. He immediately recognized Dr. Graves, who had attended a number of his lectures before members of the medical fraternity, and had entered into discussions with him.
While the two were talking, the housekeeper went in for some hot water, lemon and sugar for a toddy. She had only been absent for a few minutes when we were all alarmed by the sound of barking and snarling within the house, punctuated by piercing screams.
Dr. Graves was the first to reach the door, where he paused. I attempted to force my way past him, but he stayed me with his arm.
“Get back, woman!” he shouted to someone within. “Get back and close the door. The creature is mad.”
At the far end of the hall, I saw the stout wife of the house man apparently rooted to the floor by horror. Just in front of her, the Airedale, growling and snarling savagely, was rapidly demolishing the upholstering of a beautiful antique settee. The hairy jaws of the creature were flecked with white foam, and the eyes were bloodshot and unnaturally luminescent from extreme dilation of the pupils.