The annexed building, a mere shell, had not escaped
examination by the search party, and it was with no very definite
purpose in view that Seton pushed open the rickety gate. Doubtless
Kismet, of which the Arabs speak, dictated that he should do so.
The tide was high, and the water whispered ghostly under the pile-
supported structure. Seton experienced a new sense of chill which did
not seem to be entirely physical as he stared out at the gloomy river
prospect and listened to the uncanny whisperings of the tide. He was
about to turn back when another sound attracted his attention. A dog
was whimpering somewhere near him.
At first he was disposed to believe that the sound was due to some
other cause, for the deserted wharf was not a likely spot in which to
find a dog, but when to the faint whimpering there was added a
scratching sound, Seton's last doubts vanished.
"It's a dog," he said, "a small dog."
Like Kerry, he always carried an electric pocket-lamp, and now he
directed its rays into the interior of the building.
A tiny spaniel, whining excitedly, was engaged in scratching with its
paws upon the dirty floor as though determined to dig its way through.
As the light shone upon it the dog crouched affrightedly, and,
glancing in Seton's direction, revealed its teeth.
Pages:
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375