The Dower House Mystery by Patricia Wentworth

on her face, and could not meet them; they saw too much. And, if she looked, it might happen that she, too, would see something that she was not ready to see. The colour rose to the roots of her hair, and without a word she turned and ran upstairs. When she came back with Fearless, the veil was between them again; the intimate moment had passed.
    They shook hands and said good-night. Then Amabel locked and bolted the door, and went back to the sitting-room, Fearless walking beside her in the most sedate and comfortable fashion.
    At ten she went down again to take him for a run. The hall had lost its terrors. It was raining a little, but not cold. As they came in, she saw Jenny at the far end of the passage leading to the kitchen, and called out a cheerful good-night. Then she and Fearless went up to bed. Before putting out her light she surveyed the room. The great, dark press that filled the whole wall opposite the door gave it a gloomy look. Amabel remembered paying a visit as a child and being put to sleep in a room with just such another cupboard in it; it had haunted her childish dreams for years. If this room were really hers, she thought she would have bright-coloured curtains, yellow or orange, and a warm brown carpet instead of the cold washed-out chintzes and grey Axminster of Miss Harriet’s bequeathing. To spend money in imagination is one of the harmless dissipations of the poor, and one which had often given Amabel a good deal of pleasure.
    She locked the door which led through into Miss Georgina’s room, and got into bed. The telephone and Fearless were really more satisfying companions than poor, gloomy Ellen.
    Fearless had curled himself into a ball in front of the bureau, and was already asleep. Amabel’s heart warmed to him. She put out the light, and fell asleep with grateful thoughts of Julian.
    It was about two hours later that something woke her. Her eyes opened on the darkness, and, for a confused moment, though she was aware of sound—sound that had awakened her and still continued—, she did not know what sort of sound it was. Then it came to her that Fearless was growling, with a little whimper thrown in now and again. She heard the pad of his feet as he moved in the room, and she put out her hand and switched on the light. He just turned his head, and she saw his eyes, big and anxious. Then he was at the door, head cocked on one side, nose to the crack, snuffling and whining. Amabel sat up and spoke his name:
    â€œFearless, good boy, lie down.”
    Again that quick, anxious glance at her.
    â€œLie down, Fearless!”
    But the whimpering increased, and he began to scratch at the door. Amabel got out of bed, flung her dressing-gown about her, came to the door, and stood there listening. At first she could hear nothing. The dog’s excitement grew. She tried to hush him, and caught—or thought she caught—a distant sound impossible to define. It was not the thudding which had brought her downstairs before, but something else.
    She put her hand on the Airedale’s head, and strained to hear. It came again, like something moving, like something being dragged, something heavy—the whole sound so blurred that she could hardly catch it. But Fearless was becoming frantic and beyond her power to control; he was on his hind legs now, tearing at the door and uttering sharp yelps; every now and then he turned, licked Amabel’s hand, caught at her dress, her wrist. She picked up the end of the lead, gave it a double turn round her hand, unlocked the door, opened it, and reached for the switch that controlled the passage lights. The dog’s upward bound and furious rush forward brought her to her knees before she could touch it.
    The high, strained wail of a cat rose up from the black hall. The lead was wrenched from her hand. She lost her balance completely and fell. Fearless was gone. She heard him go clattering down the stairs, and as she stumbled up and got