The Touch of Death by John Creasey Page B

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Chapter 10
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    All that it meant and all the horror that it might mean flashed through Banister’s mind. The dog, yapping at the cowering dancers; the couples clutching each other and pressing back away from it – and the two dead girls and the dead man.
    The dog might escape, and if it did, would roam the town. Whenever it brushed up against a man, a woman or a child, there would be a flash – and death.
    The fear of the humans would terrify it; Banister sensed something of that now; the dog itself was being driven mad by the terror which it caused in others.
    Rita spoke again, as if she were praying that the dog would hear her and understand.
    â€œDon’t go out, Pip, don’t go out .”
    A man moved forward from the crowd on one side, as if he intended to sidle up towards the dog and grab it.
    â€œDon’t do that! ” Rita screamed.
    The man turned. The dog, turned, too, and frisked about, snarling at the man. Banister couldn’t be sure, no one could be sure – but the man’s leg and the dog’s teeth must have touched. There was a flash, and the man went down, falling flat; his head thumped against the floor.
    A girl screamed.
    â€œ No, no, no! ” breathed Rita. “I—”
    She blocked Banister’s path. He gripped her shoulder and thrust her to one side.
    â€œDon’t!” she gasped, and clutched his hands. “He might be too strong for you, he—”
    Banister pushed her to one side. He heard men running behind him, heard Palfrey’s voice.
    â€œNeil, leave it to us. Neil! ”
    Banister was at the door. The dog was looking towards a dozen people all pressed against the wall, the men trying to shield the women. Terror had petrified their faces; there was no movement, just the glare of horror in eyes which a few minutes before had been soft and misty and contented. If the dog leapt at them, one or two would die; perhaps all of them. If it ran amok—
    â€œ Neil, leave it to us! ” Palfrey cried.
    â€œ Neil! ” Rita screamed.
    Banister ran into the room, and snapped: “Pip, come here!” The dog recognised the name, and turned. “Pip, sit down,” Banister ordered, and wondered with despairing hope whether it had been trained to obedience. “Sit—”
    It leapt at him.
    One woman screamed.
    It flew at his throat. He thrust out his hands to grab its neck. He felt a sharp shock, but it was probably the wiry body smacked against his tensed arms. The dog wriggled and snapped at him, but he clutched it tightly with his free hand, shifted the other and got a grip on its neck.
    He squeezed.
    He knew that Rita was behind him, and heard Palfrey, just outside. He hardly noticed them. He kept up the pressure. He knew that everyone there was staring, but he heard no sound except the wheezy yelping of the killer dog; the only movement was its writhing body. Legs seemed to leap up and down convulsively, and it kept yapping at him, but the yapping grew fainter and the movements less vigorous.
    Everyone seemed frozen into immobility.
    The dog stopped moving. Banister held it for a few seconds, then put it carefully down on the dance-floor. It didn’t move for he had broken its neck.
    A woman gasped, and fell sideways; a man jerked out of his trance to catch her. Then others moved, and men and women began to talk in a high-pitched, frightened voice, and the men as shrill as the women.
    The dog lay with its broken neck, and four people lay near it.
    Suddenly, Palfrey was beside Banister.
    â€œNow you’ve gone this far you’d better finish the job.” There was a hostile note in his voice, different from anything that Banister had heard before. “Pick it up and come with me.”
    It was an order, and Banister picked the dog up.
    â€œTake her away, I’ll see her later.” Palfrey spoke to some of his men, and two ranged alongside Rita. She was obviously terrified of