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Instinct wavered before the terrible weariness that gripped her. She collided with a tree trunk, slumped down sobbing on the wet ground.

“Dan,” she whispered brokenly. “I’ve got to find Dan.”

She huddled there, sobbing angrily. “You’re a damned fool, what’s the man to you? What’s honor among thieves? Wouldn’t he let you down if he had the Vanderfelt stones in his mitt?” Her fingers ached around the brown leather bag. The gate was only a step now.

Through her swaying consciousness she heard the baying of the dog Kato. She had grown somewhat accustomed to it. Then suddenly she sat up, sweat cold on her body. The baying was drawing near. Rising in surging crescendo of sound over to her right. A heavy body crashed through the shrubbery. Kato was loose! Had caught her scent! Was on the trail!

She struggled to her feet, senses blurred before the rising tide of terror that engulfed her. Man she could understand. Man she could only fear so much. Hard training had taught her how to deal with man, but a beast! A great slavering-mouthed creature springing out of the dark—

Behind the rush of the dog came the running footsteps of a man.

She cried shrilly, “Dan! Dan!” Wondering why she bothered since it would likely be Kessler or Paget.

She heard a startled grunt, a curse. There was the sound of lunging, struggling bodies, a gruff voice saying thickly, “Hold on, you devil,” the dreadful hunting whine of a dog, eager for the kill.

Ellen tried to run. If she could reach the gate the dog couldn’t get over the wall. Once outside she would be safe. Her feet were leaden. With eyes grown accustomed to the darkness, she made out the form of the great dog rearing over her, front paws in the air. Caught the squeak of a stout leather harness as he was drawn back by the cursing, floundering man who held him.

Ellen acted without conscious volition as she jerked her small flashlight out, shot it full strength into the dog’s eyes’. For a long, terrible moment he was thrown into relief. A great-bodied, mighty-muscled brute, with wide, slavering jaws and small, reddish eyes. His fangs gleamed as he hurled himself forward at whatever new menace confronted him in this glaring light. There was a sharp crack of leather breaking, a dismayed yell, seemingly all at once.

The dog leaped. Ellen thought, “This is the end. He will kill me before I can move.”

She saw the beautiful silvery body arcing toward her, felt the hot breath on her face. Heard the report of a shot. Watched unemotionally as the dog halted in mid-stride, twisted horribly, fell with a dull crash, lay there twitching, blood gushing from a jagged tear between his eyes. Then she heard a man say,

“Good work, baby, good work,” and looked dazedly down at the gun in her hand. The man was beside her now, a furtive, uncouth figure. She saw his thin, whiskery face. His oddly gleaming eyes. Heard his uneven breathing, as he asked,

“Just who in hell are you, beautiful?”

She answered quietly enough. “I am Ellen Conway, but that doesn’t matter. Here—” She pressed the little bronze button into his hand. “Jack sent it,” she explained. “They’ve got him cornered in there. It’s an S. O. S.” She gasped suddenly. “You’re Dan, aren’t you?”

He laughed without any mirth. “Yes, lovely. Thanks for the tip. Let’s get going.”

She drew back. “I’m not going in there—”

His hand, hard as nails, clamped on her shoulder. She felt herself propelled along the ragged path toward the house.

“Oh, yes you are, charming,” Dan promised her. “Oh, yes, baby, you’re coming right along in.”

The man who had called himself Tavelli said levelly, “That’s foolish, of course. I can’t get the girl back. I never saw her until I came here tonight.”

Paget’s smile was a snarl. “No? Well, that’s just too bad, guy, ’cause it’s your death warrant. Your little playmate won’t get any place, you know. Kato’s loose. Hear that baying? Kato’s a killer. Trained that way. And now he’s loose—” He laughed at the whitening of the other’s face, “That gets hold, doesn’t it, old-timer? You don’t like the thought of the pretty lady being mangled by big, bad Kato. You’d like it even less if you could really see Kato at work—”

He stopped as through the drum of the rain came the muffled sound of a shot. His lips whitened. For just an instant his eyes flicked to the window. In that instant Tavelli fired through his pocket. The gun roared in the warm confines of the room. He leaped for the divan, shoved it out, ducked behind, crouched there, gun leveled.

Irene screamed, leaping to her feet, eyes green with hate.

“Vance! Vance, are you hurt?”

Paget’s laugh bubbled. He was reeling drunkenly in room’s center, blood trickling from the corner of his loose mouth. “Not hurt,” he choked. “Not hurt — only dizzy. Can’t lift the damned gun. You take it, Irene, you get the dirty, double-crossing—”

“Stay where you are,” Tavelli rapped, as the woman surged forward. “I’ll plug you, lady, if you move.”

She hesitated, whining in helpless fury. Paget stormed weakly. “Get the gun. Burn him down—” He tried desperately to lift his heavy arm. The blue fingers relaxed. The gun thudded to the rug. He staggered, kicked at it. It shot across the polished floor, straight to the woman’s feet. She ducked for it and Tavelli’s shot went over her head.

Laughing crazily, she crouched on the floor, gun pointed. “Get you now,” she spat. “Get you now—”

The door behind her opened very softly. A man stood there, white-faced, grim-eyed, soaked with mud and water. He caught details in one comprehending flash, then he leaped, hurling himself full force on the kneeling woman, crashing her to the floor, stifling her startled cry by the impact of his body. His strong, dirty hand twisted the gun free. He gave her a brutal shove, straightened, breathing hard. He looked at the man behind the divan.

“Okay, Chief,” he said. “I guess that fixes it. This mug here” — he looked indifferently at the moaning Paget, huddled in a chair, worrying at his chest with thin, bloody fingers — “he’s out anyway, ain’t he?”

The man who had impersonated Tavelli gave the divan another shove and walked out. “Thanks, Dan,” he said, then frowned as he saw Ellen Conway. She stood motionless just inside the door. Her hair clung soddenly to her white, expressionless face. Her hands sagged limply, slim wrists heavy with the weight of metal cuffs.

Dan said, “This little wren brought the office, Chief. I let the damned dog loose, on the hope of running something to earth. He nearly got away from me. This kid shot him and passed me your badge. I’d ’a’ been in sooner, but Susan said to wait for her signal. Passed me the office on the back porch.”

The other man interrupted shortly. “Bad news, kid, take it on the chin. Kessler killed Susan Dilke. Got wise, I guess. Take it on the chin.”

Dan took it. For a moment his face twisted in quick, almost unbearable pain. His grim lips quivered. His eyes held a sudden look of madness. “Kessler!” he choked. “Kessler killed her!”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Kessler? I’ll—”

A strong, quiet hand rested a moment on the boy’s shaking shoulders. “Take it standing, son. It’s the game, you know.” He paused, breathing unevenly. “She was a regular guy,” he said, in simple obituary, and added, “As for Kessler, well, he’s croaked there behind the divan. According to Susan, he was already marked for death by the other two here.”