The oculist turned to us with an expression of acute interest.
“Chloroform,” he said quietly.
CHAPTER VII.
THE CHEMIST’S ROCK.
By the time we gave up our hunt for Sholto that night and saw Hilderman into the Baltimore II. at the landing-stage, the harvest moon had splashed the mountain side with patches of silver in reckless profusion. But we were in no mood for æsthetics. We applied the moonlight to more practical purposes.
“Show me the river, Mr. Ewart,” said Garnesk, as we turned away from the shore. Accordingly I took him up stream till we came to Dead Man’s Pool.
“What do you make of things now?” I asked, as we walked along.
“I can’t make anything of the stealing of a dog except that someone coveted it and has now got it. Can you?”