Part 43 (2/2)

”Heath, have you lost your ears? or your senses?” he cries, impatiently; ”what the devil has your dog found, that has set these fellows in such a panic? Something's wrong; they want you to come and control the dog.”

”Heath! Heath!” comes from the adjoining vacant lot; ”come, for G.o.d's sake, quick!”

In another moment, Clifford Heath has seized his hat, and, followed by his neighbor, is out in the yard.

”Come this way, O'Meara,” he says, quickly; ”that is if you can leap the fence, it's not high,” and he strides through his own grounds, scales the intervening palings, and in a few seconds is on the scene.

On the scene! At the edge of the old cellar, one of the men recently denominated, ”poor devils,” by the musing doctor, is gesticulating violently, and urging him forward with lips that are pale with terror.

Down in the old cellar, the second man, paler still than the first, is making futile efforts to draw the dog away from something, at which he is clawing and tearing, barking furiously all the time.

Something lies under a heaped up ma.s.s of leaves, gra.s.s, and freshly turned earth; something from which the fierce beast is tearing away the covering with rapid movements. As he leaps down into the cellar, Clifford Heath sees what it is that has so terrified the two men. From under the leaves and earth, Prince has brought to light a human foot and leg!

Instantly he springs forward, his hand upon the dog's collar, his face pale as ashes.

”Prince!” he cries; ”Prince! come away, sir.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Prince, come away, sir!”]

The dog crouches, quails for a moment, then utters a low growl, and tries to shake himself free; for the first time, he refuses to obey his master.

But it _is_ his master; there is a short, sharp struggle, and then the brute cowers, whining at his feet.

”Wait!” he says, imperiously to the men, and then, speaking a stern word of command, he strides away, followed by the conquered and trembling brute.

It is the work of a moment to chain him fast; and then Clifford Heath goes swiftly back to the men, who stand very much as he left them.

”Can this be some trick?” Mr. O'Meara is saying, peering down from the edge of the cellar wall at the mound of earth and the protruding leg.

”There is no trick here,” replies Clifford Heath, once more springing down into the cellar. ”My dog would not be deceived. Come down here, O'Meara; this thing must be unearthed.”

Mr. O'Meara lowers himself carefully down, and the man who has thus far stood sentinel follows suit. Then the four approach the mound once more.

For a moment they regard each other silently; then one of the masons says:

”If we had a spade.”

”Not yet,” breaks in Lawyer O'Meara. ”Let's make sure that we have found something before we cause any alarm to be given. Get some small boards; we do not want a spade.”

The boards are found easily, and they look to O'Meara again, all but Clifford Heath, who stands near the mound gazing downward as if fascinated. While O'Meara speaks, he stoops swiftly, and then carries his hand to his pocket.

”Let's remove the--upper portion of whatever this is,” says the lawyer nervously, ”and work carefully. This looks like--”

”It looks like _murder_,” says Clifford Heath, quietly. ”Pull away the dirt carefully, men.”

They are all strong-nerved, courageous men; yet they are all very pale, as they bend to their task.

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