George shook and shivered behind the curtain, longing to go to Jo’s help, but knowing that it wouldn’t be of the least use. Besides — there might be a chance now of finding Timmy. It had almost broken George’s heart to be parted from him for so long.

Jo was dragged yelling and kicking into the room and locked in again. Red and Markhoff began to quarrel about which of them must have left the door unlocked.

“You were there last,” said Red.

“Well, if I was, I tell you I didn’t leave the door unlocked,” Markhoff raged back. “I wouldn’t be so fat-headed. That’s the kind of thing you do.”

“That’ll do,” snapped Red. “Have you shot that dog yet? No, you haven’t! Go down and do it before he escapes too!”

George’s heart went stone-cold. Shoot Timmy! Oh no! Dear darling old Timmy. She couldn’t let him be shot!

She didn’t know what to do. She heard Red and Markhoff go down the stone stairway, their boots making a terrific noise at first, and then gradually becoming fainter.

She slipped down after them. They went into a nearby room, still arguing. George risked being seen and shot past the open door. She came to another stairway, not a spiral one this time, and went down it so fast that she almost lost her footing. Down and down and down. She met nobody at all. What a very strange place this was!

She came into a dark, enormous hall that smelt musty and old. She ran to the great door at the front and tried to open it. It was very heavy, but at last it swung slowly back.

She stood there in the bright sunlight, peering out cautiously. She knew where Timmy was. She had been able to see him sometimes, flopping queerly in and out of the summer-house. She knew that because of his continual barking he had been doped. Red had told her that when she had asked him. He enjoyed making her miserable. Poor George!

She tore across the courtyard and came to the summer-house. Timmy was there, lying as if he were asleep. George flung herself on him, her arms round his thick neck.

“Timmy, oh Timmy!” she cried, and couldn’t see him for tears. Timmy, far away in some drugged dream, heard the voice he loved best in all the world. He stirred. He opened his eyes and saw George!

He was too heavy with his sleep to do more than lick her face. Then his eyes closed again. George was in despair. She was afraid Markhoff would come and shoot him in a very short time.

“Timmy!” she called in his ear. “TIMMY! Do wake up. TIMMY!”

Tim opened his eyes again. What — his mistress still here! Then it couldn’t be a dream. Perhaps his world would soon be right again. Timmy didn’t understand at all what had been happening the last few days. He staggered to his feet somehow and stood swaying there, shaking his head. George put her hand on his collar. “That’s right, Tim,” she said. “Now you come with me. Quick!”