“Looks like a morgue,” offered Ellison, with a shrug of his great shoulders, as the three, alighting, pushed the car before them into the wood.
Then, guns out, they went forward slowly among the trees.
Annister had formed no definite plan of attack. The red ribbon at that window-bar might or might not be visible under the moon, but, the guards eliminated, it seemed to him that, after all, they would have to make it an assault in force. Pondering this matter, of a sudden he leaped sidewise as a dim figure rose upward almost in his face.
Spread-eagled like a bat against the dimness, the figure bulked, huge, against the moon as Annister, bending to one side, brought up his fist in a lifting punch, from his shoe-tops.
It was a savage blow; it landed with the sound of a butcher’s cleaver on the chopping-block; there came a gasping grunt; the thud of a heavy body, as the guard went downward without a sound.
“One!” breathed Ellison, as, trussing their victim with a length of stout line brought from the car, they left him, going forward carefully, keeping together, circling the house.
But it was not until they were half way round it, with, so far, no sign of that signal for which he looked, that they encountered the second guard.
He came upon them with a swift, silent onrush, leaping among the trees, a great, dun shape, spectral under the moon, fangs bared, as, without a sound, the hound drove straight for the giant’s throat.
A shot would bring discovery; they dared not risk it. Annister could see the great head, the wide ruff at the neck, the grinning jaws.... Then, the giant’s hands had gone up and out; there came a straining heave, a wrench, a queer, whistling croak; Ellison, rising from his knees, looked downward a moment to where the beast, its jaw broken by that mighty strength, lay stretched, lifeless, at his feet.
By now they had come full circle, when, all at once, Annister, peering under his hand, sucked in his breath with a whispered oath.