But it was not Dade. Dade was in
bed, snoring, stretched out comfortably.
Calumet slipped out of the room and went to Malcolm's. Both Bob and
Malcolm were sound asleep. He hesitated for an instant, and then made
his way slowly downstairs. Again he listened at the door. Betty and
the man were still talking.
Calumet found his boots. He decided not to put them on until he got to
the kitchen door, for he was determined to go around the outside of the
house and lay in wait for Betty's confederate, and he did not want to
make any sound that would scare him off. He was proceeding stealthily,
directing his course through the darkness by a stream of moonlight that
came in through one of the kitchen windows, and had almost reached the
kitchen door when his feet struck an obstruction--something soft and
yielding.
There was a sudden scurrying, a sharp, terrified yelp.
Calumet cursed. It was Bob's pup. The animal planted himself in the
stream of moonlight that came in through the window, facing Calumet and
emitting a series of short, high-pitched, resentful barks.
There was humor in this situation, but Calumet did not see it. He
heard a cry of surprise from the direction of the dining-room, and he
turned just in time to see the office door closing on a flood of light.
With savage energy and haste, he pulled on his boots, darted out of the
house, ran across the rear porch, leaped down, and ran around the
nearest corner of the house.
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