"I couldn't wait for you to get back. I thought I'd do a little
detective work on my own account. I kept getting further and
further away, knew you'd find me, anyhow. But I didn't think you'd
have a brute like that," he added, binding up his hand ruefully.
"Is there any trace of Inez?"
"Not yet. Why did you pick out this house?" asked Kennedy, still
suspicious.
"I saw a light here, I thought," answered Lockwood frankly. "But
as I approached, it went out. Maybe I imagined it."
"Let us see."
Kennedy spoke a few words to the man with the dog. He slipped the
leash, with a word that we did not catch, and the dog bounded off,
around the house, as she was accustomed to do when out on duty
with an officer in the city suburbs, circling about the backs of
houses as the man on the beat walked the street. She made noise
enough about it, too, tumbling over a tin pail that had been
standing on the back porch steps.
"Bang!"
Some one was in the house and was armed. In the darkness he had
not been able to tell whether an attack was being made or not, but
had taken no chances. At any rate, now we knew that he was
desperate.
I thought of all the methods Kennedy had adopted to get into
houses in which the inmates were desperate.
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