After talking long and loudly all evening of his sheep's peerless quality and of their certain victory over all comers in the fair the Wall Street Farmer consented at last to go to bed. And silence settled over The Place. In the black hour before dawn, that same silence was split in a score of places--split into a most horrible cacophony of sound that sent sleep scampering to the winds. It was the mingling of yells and bleats and barks and the scurry of many feet. It burst out all at once in full force, lasting for some seconds with increasing clangor; then died to stillness. By that time every human on The Place was out of bed. In more or less rudimentary attire the house's inhabitants trooped down into the lower hall. There the Wall Street Farmer was raving noisily and was yanking at a door bolt whose secret he could not fathom. "It's my sheep!" he shouted. "That accursed dog of yours has gotten at them. He's slaughtering them. I heard the poor things bleating and I heard him snarling among them. They cost me----" "If you're speaking of Lad," blazed the Master, "he's----" "Here are the flashlights," interposed the Mistress. "Let me open that door for you. I understand the bolt." Out into the dark they went, all but colliding with McGillicuddy. The Scot, awakened like the rest, had gone to the paddock. He had now come back to report the paddock empty and all the sheep gone. "It's the collie tike!" sputtered McGillicuddy. "I'll tak' oath to it. I ken it's him. I suspeecioned him a' long, from how he garred at oor sheep the day. He----" "I said so!" roared the Wall Street Farmer. "The murderous brute! First, he tries to kill Morty. And now he slaughters my sheep. You----" The Master started to speak. But a white little hand, in the darkness, was laid gently across his mouth. "You told me he always slept under the piano in your music room!" accused the guest as the four made their way paddock-ward, lighting a path with the electric flashlights. "Well, I looked there just now. He isn't under the piano. He---- He----" "Lad!" called the Master; then at the top of his lungs. "_Lad!_" A distant growl, a snarl, a yelp, a scramble--and presently Lad appeared in the farthest radius of the flashlight flare. For only a moment he stood there. Then he wheeled about and vanished in the dark. Nor had the Master the voice to call him back. The momentary glimpse of the great collie, in the merciless gleam of the lights, had stricken the whole party into an instant's speechlessness. Vividly distinct against the darkness they had seen Lad. His well-groomed coat was rumpled. His eyes were fire-balls. And--his jaws were red with blood. Then he had vanished. A groan from the Master--a groan of heartbreak--was the first sound from the four. The dog he loved was a killer. "It isn't true! It isn't true!" stoutly declared the Mistress.