"Damn it, sir," he burst out indignantly, "isn't a Christian of more importance than a dog?"
A Christian!—but I was in no humor to waste words. "Are you strong enough to carry him to his own side of the house?" I asked.
"I won't touch him, if he's dead!"
"He is not dead. Take him away!"
All this time my mind was pre-occupied by the extraordinary appearance of the rocket, rising from the neighborhood of a lonely little village between midnight and one in the morning. How I connected that mysterious signal with a possibility of tracing Cristel, it is useless to inquire. That was the thought in me, when I led my lost darling's father back to his room. Without stopping to explain myself, I reminded him that the cottage was quiet again, and told him to wait my return.
In the kitchen, I overtook the servant and his burden. The door of communication (by which they had entered) was still open.
"Lock that door," I said.
"Lock it yourself," he answered; "I'll have nothing to do with this business." He passed through the doorway, and along the passage, and ascended his master's stairs.
It struck me directly that the man had suggested a sure way of protecting Toller, during my absence. The miller's own door was already secured; I took the key, so as to be able to let myself in again—then passed through the door of communication—fastened it—and put the key in my pocket. The third door, by which the Cur entered his lodgings, was of course at my disposal. I had just closed it, when I discovered that I had a companion. Ponto had followed me.
I felt at once that the dog's superior powers of divination might be of use, on such an errand as mine was. We set out together for Kylam.