It was not long by the clock before Kennedy did return.  But it seemed ages to me.

He was not alone.  With him was a man in a uniform, and a powerful dog, for all the world like a huge wolf.

“Down, Searchlight,” he ordered, as the dog began to show an uncanny interest in me.  “Let me introduce my new dog detective,” he chuckled.  “She has a wonderful record as a police dog.  I got O’Connor out of bed and he telephoned out to the nearest suburban station.  That saved a good deal of time in getting her up here.”

I mustered up courage to tell Kennedy of the defection of Lockwood.  He did not seem to mind it especially.

“He won’t get far, with the dog after him, if we want to take the time,” he said.  “She’s a German sheep dog, a Schaeferhund.”

Searchlight seemed to have many of the characteristics of the wild, prehistoric animal, among them the full, upright ears of the wild dog, which are such a great help to it.  She was a fine, alert, upstanding dog, hardy, fierce, and literally untiring, of a tawny light brown like a lioness, about the same size and somewhat of the type of the smooth-coated collie, broad of chest and with a full brush of tail.  Untamed as she seemed, she was perfectly under Kennedy’s control and rendered him absolute and unreasoning obedience.

They took her over to the abandoned car.  There they let her get a good whiff of the bottom of the car about the driver’s feet, and a moment later she started off.

Alfonso and his mother insisted on going with us and that made our progress across country slow.

On we went over the rough country, through a field, then skirting a clump of woods until at last we came to a lane.

We stopped in the shadow of a thicket.  There was an empty summer home.  Was there some intruder there?  Was it really empty?

Now and then we could hear Searchlight scouting about in the under-brush, crouching and hiding, watching and guarding.  We paused and waited in the heavily-laden night air, wondering.  The soughing of the night wind in the evergreens was mournful.  Did it betoken a further tragedy?

There was a slight noise from the other side of the house.  Craig reached out and drew us back into the shadow of the thicket, deeper.

“Some one is prowling about, I think.  Leave it to the dog.”

Searchlight, who had been near us, was sniffing eagerly.  From our hiding-place we could just see her.  She had heard the sounds, too, even before we had, and for an instant stood with every muscle tense.

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