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the throat out of any man alive, from the general downwards," Ferguson said with satisfaction. " Except me, of course."
    " He didn't tear out any throats last night," I pointed out. "I wonder why?"
    " He must have been got at," Ferguson said defensively.
    " What do you mean ' got at'? Did you have a look at him before you turned him into his compound last night?"
    "Look at him? 'Course not. Why should I? When we saw the cut outer fence we thought whoever done it must have caught sight of Rollo and run for his life. That's what I would have bloody well done. If-----"
    " Fetch the dog here," I said. " But for God's sake muzzle him first." He left and while he was away Hardanger returned. I told him what I'd learned, and that I'd sent for the dog.
    Hardanger asked, " What do you expect to find? Nothing, I think. A chloroform pad or something like that would leave no mark. Same if some sort of dart or sharply tipped weapon with one of those funny poisons had been chucked at him. Just a pinprick, that's all there would be."
    " From what I hear of our canine pal," I said, " I wouldn't try to hold a chloroform pad against his head if you gave me the crown jewels. As for those funny poisons, as you call them, I don't suppose one person in a hundred thousand could lay hands on one of them or know how to use them even if they did. Besides, throwing or firing any sharp-tipped weapon against a fast-moving, thick-coated target in the dark would be a very dicey proposition indeed. Our friend of last night doesn't go in for dicey propositions, only for certainties."
    Ferguson was back in ten minutes, fighting to restrain a wolf-like animal that lunged out madly at anyone who came near him. Rollo had a muzzle on but even that didn't make me feel too confident. I didn't need any persuasion to accept the sergeant's word that the dog was a killer.
    " Does that hound always act like this?" I demanded.
    " Not usually." Ferguson was puzzled. " In fact, never. Usually perfectly behaved until I let him off the leash—then he'll go for the nearest person no matter who he is. But he even had a go at me this afternoon—
    half-hearted, like, but nasty."
    It didn't take long to discover the source of Rollo's irritation. Rollo was suffering from what must have been a very severe headache indeed. The skin on the forehead, just above eye-level, had a swollen pulpy feeling to it and it took four men all their time to hold the dog down when I touched this area with the tips of my forefingers. We turned him over, and I parted the thick fur on the throat till I found what I was looking for—two triangular jagged tears, deep and very unpleasant looking, about three inches apart.
    "You'd better give your pal here a couple of days off," I said to Ferguson, "and some disinfectant for those gashes on his neck. I wish you luck when you're putting it on. You can take him away."
    " No chloroform, no fancy poisons," Hardanger admitted when we were alone. "Those gashes—barbed wire, hey?"
    " What else? Just the right distance apart. Somebody pads his forearm, sticks it between a couple of strands of barbed wire and Rollo grabs it.
    He wouldn't bark—those dogs are trained never to bark. As soon as he grabs he's pulled through and down onto the barbed wire and can't pull himself free unless he tears his throat out. And then someone clouts him at his leisure with something heavy and hard. Simple, old-fashioned, direct and very very effective. Whoever the character we're after, he's no fool."
    "He's smarter than Rollo, anyway," Hardanger conceded heavily.

CHAPTER THREE
    When we went up to " E " block, accompanied uy two of Hardanger's assistants newly arrived from London, we found Cliveden, Weybridge, Gregori and Wilkinson waiting for us. Wilkinson produced the key to the heavy wooden door.
    " No one been inside since you locked the place after seeing Clandon?"
    Hardanger asked.
    "I can guarantee that, sir. Guards posted all the time."
    "But Cavell here asked for the