"'A sop for Cerberus,'" laughed Hugh Ingelow; "a supper for the dogs.
They'll never want another after."
"What do you mean?"
"The meat is poisoned; there is strychnine enough in these two pieces to
kill a dozen dogs. I mean to throw that to them this evening."
"But how?"
"Over the wall, of course. What's their names? They'll come when I call
them."
"Tiger and Nero."
"So be it. Tiger and Nero will devour the beef and ask no questions. An
hour after they'll be as dead as two door-nails."
"Poor fellows! But it can't be helped, I suppose?"
"I suppose not. Save your sympathy, Sarah. You must do for the three old
folks."
"Poison them, too?" asked Sarah, grimly.
"Not quite. Just put them to sleep."
"Indeed! How?"
Mr. Ingelow produced a little white paper from his vest pocket.
"You see this powder?" holding it up. "Drop it into the tea-pot this
evening, and don't drink any of the tea."
The woman shrunk a little.
"I'm almost afraid, Mr. Ingelow. I don't like drugging. They're old and
feeble; I daren't do it."
"You must do it," Hugh Ingelow said, sternly.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318