“I heard Rog say they’d roll into line. There’s only one spot in this village where a car has to roll into line. That’s at the toll-bridge.”
Out in the village street Dr. Stone filled his pipe and puffed contentedly. Rog’s car stood in the police driveway beside the Town Hall; and the steel storage-box, wrenched loose by crowbar and hammer, lay upon the ground.
“You took a chance, Uncle David,” Joe said hoarsely. “If that car had slipped past——”
“Rog threatened us on the lake path last night,” the blind doctor said mildly. “If I had released the harness-grip Lady would have torn him down. I knew only two persons in town who had met the car, or Rog: Jerry, and he was up-country. You; but it was dark last night and you wouldn’t have recognized the car. That put it up to Lady.”
Joe blinked.
“If you owned a dog,” Dr. Stone went on, “it would be your dog. I’m blind. Lady knows it. Lady believes she owns me, and she never forgets. To her Rog will always mean danger—to me.”
“Oh!” Light broke upon the boy. “Then Lady——”
“Yes,” said Dr. Stone. “I knew when Rog’s car stopped at the toll-house. Lady growled.”
THE UNKNOWN FOUR
Dr. David Stone, walking rapidly beside Lady, seemed unaware of the penetrating chill of the pale, thin dawn. His broad shoulders swung with his stride, his coat was open, and no hat covered the white hair of his magnificently-formed head. But Joe Morrow, his nephew, huddled down into a turtle-neck sweater and shivered.