“I thought he left that sort of thing to the doctors, but I guess he took a hand in it himself,” he muttered, continuing to fumble with the knives in the drawer.  It was no time to ask questions, and I did not.  Kennedy rapidly stowed away the things in his pockets.  One bottle he opened and held to his nose.  I could distinguish immediately the volatile smell of ether.  He closed it quickly, and it, too, went into his pocket with the remark, “Somebody must have known how to administer an anaesthetic—­ probably the Wollstone woman.”

A suppressed exclamation from Kennedy caused me to look.  The drawer had a false back.  Safely tucked away in it reposed a tin box, one of those so-called strong-boxes which are so handy in that they save a burglar much time and trouble in hunting all over for the valuables he has come after.  Kennedy drew it forth and laid it on the desk.  It was locked.

Even that did not seem to satisfy Kennedy, who continued to scrutinise the walls and corners of the room as if looking for a safe or something of that sort.

“Let’s look in the room across the hall,” he whispered.

Suddenly a piercing scream of a woman rang out upstairs.  “Help!  Help!  There’s some one in the house!  Billy, help!”

I felt an arm grasp me tightly, and for a moment a chill ran over me at being caught in the nefarious work of breaking and entering a dwelling-house at night.  But it was only Kennedy, who had already tucked the precious little tin box under his arm.

With a leap he dragged me to the open window, cleared it, vaulted over the porch, and we were running for the clump of woods that adjoined the estate on one side.  Lights flashed in all the windows of the house at once.  There must have been some sort of electric-light system that could be lighted instantly as a “burglar-expeller.”  Anyhow, we had made good our escape.

As we lost ourselves in the woods I gave a last glance back and saw a lantern carried from the house to the garage.  As the door was unlocked I could see, in the moonlight, a huge dog leap out and lick the hands and face of a man.

Quickly we now crashed through the frozen underbrush.  Evidently Kennedy was making for the station by a direct route across country instead of the circuitous way by the road and town.  Behind us we could hear a deep baying.

“By the Lord, Walter,” cried Kennedy, for once in his life thoroughly alarmed, “it’s a bloodhound, and our trail is fresh.”

Closer it came.  Press forward as we might, we could never expect to beat that dog.

“Oh, for a stream,” groaned Kennedy, “but they are all frozen—­ even the river.”

He stopped short, fumbled in his pocket, and drew out the bottle of ether.

“Raise your foot, Walter,” he ordered.

I did so and he smeared first mine and then his with the ether.  Then we doubled on our trail once or twice and ran again.