Then, like an arrow, she darted into the underbrush.  An instant later, the sharp crack of a revolver rang out.  Schaef kept right on, never stopping a second, except, perhaps, for surprise.

“Crack!” almost in her face came a second spit of fire in the darkness, and a bullet crashed through the leaves and buried itself in a tree with a ping.  The intruder’s marksmanship was poor, but the dog paid no attention to it.

“One of the few animals that show no fear of gunfire,” muttered Kennedy, in undisguised admiration.

“G-R-R-R,” we heard from the police-dog.

“She has made a leap at the hand that holds the gun,” cried Kennedy, now rising and moving rapidly in the same direction.  “She has been taught that a man once badly bitten in the hand is nearly out of the fight.”

We followed, too.  As we approached we were just in time to see Schaef running in and out between the legs of a man who had heard us approach and was hastily making tracks for the road.  As he tripped, she lunged for his back.

Kennedy blew shrilly on a police whistle.  Reluctantly, Schaef let go.  One could see that with all her canine instinct she wanted to “get” that man.  Her jaws were open, as, with longing eyes, she stood over the prostrate form in the grass.  The whistle was a signal, and she had been taught to obey unquestioningly.

“Don’t move until we get to you, or you are a dead man,” shouted Kennedy, pulling an automatic as he ran.  “Are you hurt?”

There was no answer, but as we approached, the man moved, ever so little, through curiosity to see his pursuers.

Schaef shot forward.  Again the whistle sounded and she dropped back.  We bent over to seize him as Kennedy secured the dog.

“She’s a devil,” ground out the prone figure on the grass.

“Dana Phelps!” exclaimed Andrews, as the man turned his face toward us.  “What are you doing, mixed up in this?”

Suddenly there was a movement in the rear, toward the mausoleum itself.  We turned, but it was too late.  Two dark figures slunk through the gloom, bearing something between them.  Kennedy slipped the leash off Schaef and she shot out like a unchained bolt of lightning.

There was the whir of a high-powered machine which must have sneaked up with the muffler on during the excitement.  They had taken a desperate chance and had succeeded.  They were gone!

XXII

The X-ray “Movies”

Still holding Dana Phelps between us, we hurried toward the tomb and entered.  While our attention had been diverted in the direction of the swamp, the body of Montague Phelps had been stolen.

Dana Phelps was still deliberately brushing off his clothes.  Had he been in league with them, executing a flank movement to divert our attention?  Or had it all been pure chance?

“Well?” demanded Andrews.