It's Pine,--the stuff you make
boxes of."
Much to Courtney's dismay, Alix remained in town over night. He went
up to the house that evening, only to receive this disconcerting
bit of information. Halfway home, he stopped short in the road,
confronted by a most astonishing doubt. Had she really stayed in
town? Could it be possible that she was at home and did not care to
see him? Was it an excuse? He compressed his lips. With lightning
rapidity certain bits of circumstantial evidence raced through his
mind. In the first place, there was Sergeant, the police dog. He
wished he could remember whether he had seen the animal in the car
with her that morning. It was her custom to take the dog with her
when she went up for the day. One thing was certain: Sergeant was
now at home. Did that mean she had returned from the city?
And then there was another extraordinary thing,--something to which
he had not given a thought till now. The dog was on the terrace
when he strode up the walk. Not only was he there, but he interposed
his lean, bristling body between him and the porch-steps, growling
ominously and showing his teeth. He did not bark. He merely stood
there, daring him to approach. Courtney remembered saying to himself:
"There's one thing sure, you and I can't live in the same house,
you filthy brute. You'd better learn how to say your prayers, my
amiable friend.
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