"Sit down, father," advised Bosworth, gently. Mr. Van Pycke sat down. "There's some one coming," added his son a moment later. He arose and turned toward the portières at the upper end of the room, prepared to greet the beautiful Mrs. Scoville. The portières parted at the bottom. All eyes were lowered. The most unamiable looking bulldog that ever crossed man's path protruded his squat body into the room, pausing just inside the curtains to survey the trio before him in a most disconcertingly pointed manner. His whole body seemed to convert itself into a scowl of disapproval. Bosworth sat down dismayed. His father swore softly and drew his feet a bit nearer to the legs of the chair. Both of them knew the dog. They knew, moreover, that the only living creature in the whole world exempt from peril was the beast's mistress, the fair lady to whom they had come to pay coincidental devoirs. All other persons came under the head of prey, so far as Agrippa was concerned--Agrippa being the somewhat ominous name of the pet. "How--how does he happen to be loose?" murmured Bosworth, with a side glance at the detective. "Is he dangerous?" asked Mr. Doxey. "He's a man-eater," said the other, quite uncomfortably. "Nobody told me about a watchdog." "Ah, now I understand why he's loose," said Bosworth, promptly. Mr. Doxey looked thoughtful for a moment, and then opened his lips to resent the imputation, half rising from his chair to obtain greater emphasis in his delivery. Agrippa emitted a prophetic growl. Mr. Doxey resumed his seat in some haste. "Will he bite?" he demanded instead. "Bite? Hang it all, man, he'll chew us to ribbons if we move. I--I know that dog. We don't dare to twiddle until Mrs. Scoville comes in to call him off. He's got us treed, that's all there is to it. I wouldn't move my little finger for fifty dollars cash. Look at his eyes! Observe the size of his incisors!" "I believe you," said Mr. Doxey, with a belated shudder. "Demmed outrage!" sputtered Mr. Van Pycke. "Now I _can't_ take them off." Mr. Doxey was seized by an inspiration. He smiled. "Why don't you go upstairs and change 'em?" he asked. Mr. Van Pycke moved one foot, evidently agitated by a desire to kick Mr. Doxey. Agrippa growled. "Just to see if he _will_ bite," added the detective, with a nervous laugh. "You go to the devil, sir!" grated Mr. Van Pycke, but entirely without muscular emotion. Conversation lagged. For five minutes the three men sat immovable, staring with intensely wakeful eyes at the grim figure of Agrippa, who had eyes for all of them. He had moved farther into the room, possibly for the purpose of indulging in a more or less unobstructed scrutiny of the mysterious group of ladies and gentlemen beyond. Agrippa was puzzled but not disturbed. He was not what you would call an inquisitive dog. "I have never been so insulted in my life," said Mr. Van Pycke, without raising his voice above a polite monotone. "Neither have I," said Mr. Doxey.