from the station at Woodbine, just as it is getting dusk." Without another word he disappeared into the dark room.
We met him that night as he had requested. He had come up to Woodbine in the baggage-car of the train with a powerful dog, for all the world like a huge, grey wolf.
"Down, Schaef," he ordered, as the dog began to show an uncanny interest in me. "Let me introduce my new dog-detective," he chuckled. "She has a wonderful record as a police-dog."
We were making our way now through the thickening shadows of the town to the outskirts. "She's a German sheep-dog, a Schäferhund," he explained. "For my part, it is the English bloodhound in the open country and the sheep-dog in the city and the suburbs."
Schaef seemed to have many of the characteristics of the wild, prehistoric animal, among them the full, upright ears of the wild dog which are such a great help to it. She was a fine, alert, upstanding dog, hardy, fierce, and literally untiring, of a tawny light brown like a lioness, about the same size and somewhat of the type of the smooth-coated collie, broad of chest and with a full brush of tail.
Untamed though she seemed, she was perfectly under Kennedy's control, and rendered him absolute and unreasoning obedience.
At the cemetery we established a strict watch about the Phelps mausoleum and the swamp which lay across the road, not a difficult thing to do as far as concealment went, owing to the foliage. Still, for the
