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[141] <h2>CHAPTER XXVIII. WHAT THE DOG BARKED AT.</h2> About half past six the following morning, Mrs. Simpson’s maid, who had slept out, let herself into the house with her latchkey and quietly made her way to the kitchen. As usual, her first act was to open the door and windows, for the weather was warm. In doing so, she was attracted by a disturbance in the back yard, and realized that she had heard a dog barking furiously as she came along the street and through the house. She had paid no particular attention to the persistent barking, but now that she found the animal was in the rear of the Simpson lot, and acting very strangely, her curiosity was fully aroused. She did not know the dog. It was brownish in hue, collarless, and neglected in appearance. Obviously it was a stray animal which had found its way there on a foraging expedition. Now, however, its original errand had been completely forgotten, and the greatest excitement had taken its place. The creature was running from one end of the lumber pile to the other—always being careful to remain at a respectful distance—and was giving vent to an unending series of frenzied barks. [142] The open country lay just beyond the Simpson house, and the girl’s first thought was that some small-game animal had taken refuge in some cranny of the lumber. Urged on by her curiosity, she stepped out of the house and started toward the rear of the yard. “It’s a rabbit, mebbe, or a squirrel,” she told herself. “Why don’t the fool dig at it, though, instead of yelping its head off?” But by that time she had reached a point from which she could get a view of the rear end of the lumber pile. Suddenly she halted in her tracks. “For the love of Heaven!” she muttered. “That’s funny! Who’s been monkeying with that lumber? It’s been piled over in the night, or some of it has been swiped, and they’ve left a hole underneath. That’s where the mutt’s rabbit, or whatever it is, is making itself scarce.” Vaguely disturbed by her surprising discovery, she approached the spot more slowly. “There seems to be as much lumber as ever,” she decided, “but what does it mean? Who would have taken the trouble to do that—in the dead of night, too—if he wasn’t up to some mischief?” Now the dog caught sight of her and came running forward. She shooed him away, and he began barking at her, but the barks now had a pleading note in them, and again and again he ran back to the pile of lumber. “He wants me to help him, the poor boob!” the girl thought, with a pitying smile. “Ain’t that just like a fool dog?” [143] But she advanced a little farther, somewhat warily, and sniffing the air as she did so. Certainly it was not a skunk that had been cornered, and it was not likely that the creature was ferocious. Having finally arrived within six or eight feet of the end of the pile, the maid stooped cautiously and peered into the little tunnel. A moment later, she gave a piercing scream, picked up her skirts, and fled to the house. Again and again she raised her voice as she ran, but fortunately her vocal efforts did not again touch the high-water mark of that first cry, which, as it proved, had awakened Mrs. Simpson. The girl scuttled through the lower part of the house, and was flying up the stairs, when her mistress appeared at the top of the first flight. “What in the world is the matter, Mary?” Mrs. Simpson demanded. As she put the question, she clutched at her heart, for her thoughts had instinctively gone to her missing husband, and she imagined that the maid must have had some news of Simpson, or, perhaps, had even found his body on the front doorstep. Naturally, therefore, the girl’s information was not reassuring. “Oh, Mrs. Simpson!” she cried. “There’s been a murder as sure as you live! There’s a dead man under that pile of lumber in the back yard! I saw his feet!” Mrs. Simpson’s face was as white as her nightdress. [144] “Merciful Heaven!” she breathed, horror in her eyes. “I knew it—it’s Mr. Simpson! Oh, how can I bear it, how can I bear it!” And she clutched the banister for support. Fortunately, however, the girl knew better than that, even in her fright, and said so at once. “No, no, it ain’t Mr. Simpson!” she said pityingly, patting her mistress’ heaving shoulder. “This man’s got big feet, Mrs. Simpson. His shoes ain’ a bit like your husband’s.” “Are you sure?” “Certain sure, ma’am.” “Thank Heaven!” the frightened woman cried fervently. “It’s terrible enough, though, if what you say is true. Call the neighbors, get some man here as quick as you can. I’ll dress while you’re gone.” The maid ran downstairs on the new errand, and Mrs. Simpson returned to her bedroom. Five minutes later, she left the house by the rear door, wrapped in a long kimono. The servant’s errand had already borne fruit, for, although the girl herself was not in sight, a man in his shirt sleeves and with dangling suspenders was just climbing over the side fence. “What’s this I hear about a dead man, Mrs. Simpson?” he called out, as he caught sight of her. “Your girl wasn’t very coherent, but I caught something about the lumber pile in the back yard.” Mrs. Simpson hurried to him and pointed to the pile of boards. “There it is,” she explained nervously. “Mary says[145] a man is underneath, and I can see that something has been done to the pile since yesterday. That hole wasn’t there then.” The dog was still keeping up his incessant noise as they approached, and the neighbor found it impossible to drive him away. Mrs. Simpson stopped at some distance, and the man went on. He, too, stopped and peered into the opening under the pile, but laid his hand on it in order to do so. After a prolonged scrutiny, he straightened up. “There’s a man under there,” he said soberly. “You had better go to the house, Mrs. Simpson. This is no place for you.” Confronted by this emergency, however, the fugitive’s wife showed unexpected courage. “I shall do nothing of the sort,” she said. “The poor fellow may not be dead yet, for all we know, and unless the sight is too terrible, I shall remain to help you. Besides, he’ll have to be brought into the house, anyway, so why shouldn’t I see him now?” “Of course, if you feel that way about it, Mrs. Simpson, stay, by all means,” the neighbor replied, turning and beginning to throw the boards back. In half a minute he was joined by a couple of other men, while the maid and several other women appeared. These latter kept at a distance, however, and, in response to their urgings, Mrs. Simpson joined them. The combined efforts of the men resulted in uncovering Cray’s body in almost no time. The sight that met the rescuers’ gaze was a distressing one, for the[146] detective’s face was battered and bloody, and there did not appear at first to be any life in his big body. One of the men examined him, however, and presently announced that he was still alive. “I wouldn’t give much for his chances,” he said, shaking his head, “but he isn’t dead, that’s certain. I’ll go for Doctor Lord.” <hr class="chap" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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