“Turn the knob,” I shouted, “and push.” The knob turned, and the door opened behind me. A beam of light shot past me, for a moment illuminating the hairy face and dripping fangs of the brute. Then a shot rang out, the light faded from the luminous eyes, and the beast sank slowly to the floor, blood gushing from its mouth and nostrils. “Good shot, doctor,” I said, turning and releasing my hold on the battered chair. To my surprise I saw Miss Van Loan holding the flashlight in one hand and a smoking pistol in the other, while great tears trickled down her cheeks. “You!” I cried. “I was holding these while the doctor went for a ladder,” she said. “He was going to try to help you by climbing up to the window. Then I heard you call. Poor Sandy.” “Too bad you had to kill your pet,” I replied, closing the door and relieving her of gun and torch. “W--wasn’t it horrible?” she sobbed. “B-but I had to do it. He might have k-killed you.” I was about to thank her for having saved my life when the young doctor suddenly came up from the basement, dragging a stepladder. Seeing us standing there in the hall, he laid it down and joined us. “You have been rescued, I see,” he said. “Most bravely,” I replied. “Did the beast bite or scratch you?” “No.” “Are you sure? Sometimes a wound goes unnoticed in the heat of combat. Perhaps I had better look you over. I am reasonably sure the dog had hydrophobia.” He forthwith examined me with the aid of the flashlight. I had not known it before, but my left coat sleeve was torn, and my arm was bleeding where the sharp fangs had raked it. “Infected,” he said, “and of course I have no serum with me. Come out on the porch.” On the porch, he made a ligature with a towel and a pair of long scissors. Then he took a bottle and some cotton from his case and drenched the wounds with silver nitrate. “Better come to the hospital with me at once for a serum treatment,” he advised. “It may save your life.” “But I can’t leave my friends----” I began. “Nonsense,” interrupted Dr. Dorp, who was sitting up, although still muffled in a blanket. “Miss Van Loan and I will be all right here on the porch until you get back.” “Of course,” said the girl. “You have put your life in sufficient jeopardy as it is, Mr. Evans.” Thus admonished, I got into the coupe with the young doctor, and we set out for the hospital. “Queer thing the way that door shut and locked itself,” he said, when we emerged on the smooth paving of Sheridan Road. “The key must have been half turned in the lock when the wind blew it shut. The jar locked it and shook out the key.” Although I did not feel that his explanation of the phenomenon was a true one, I decided not to debate the matter with him, as it was evident that Miss Van Loan did not want it known among her acquaintances that there were strange goings-on in her home. “It was odd,” I agreed.