It was infinitely more isolated and lonely than I had ever
realized, behind its high brick walls.
Of the local police there was no sign. And without hesitation we ran
in at the open gate and up the path towards the porch. Every window in
the house was brightly illuminated, testifying to the greatness of the
occupant's fear. Gaining the porch, we stopped, as if prompted by some
mutual thought, and listened.
There was the remote murmuring of busy London, but here surrounding us
was a stillness as great as that which prevailed in my own
neighborhood; and as we stood there, keenly alert--distinctly we both
heard the howling of dogs!
"You hear it?" rapped Gatton.
"I do!" I replied.
Grasping the bell-knob, I executed a vigorous peal upon the bell.
There was a light in the hallway but my ringing elicited no response,
until:
"My God, look!" cried Gatton.
He pulled me backward out of the porch, looking upward to the window
of a room on the first floor.
A silhouette appeared there--undoubtedly that of Isobel. She seemed to
be endeavoring to pull the curtain aside ... when the shadow of a long
arm reached out to her, and she was plucked irresistibly back. The
sound of a muffled scream reached my ears, and:
"Great heavens! _It_ has got in!" whispered Gatton.
He raised his hand and the shrill note of a police whistle split the
silence.
The closed door was obviously too strong to be forced without the aid
of implements for the purpose, and we began to run around the house,
looking for some means of entrance.
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