Keeping to the shrubbery, he went around in a half circle in the hope of finding cover on the far side of the house. He moved silently, and it was as well that he did, for suddenly ahead of him he saw a movement, and he hurriedly ducked down behind some bushes.
Out of the shrubbery, not thirty yards ahead of him, came a thick-set man, an automatic rifle under his ami, and walking at his side, a ferocious-looking wolf-hound.
Don felt the hairs on the nape of his neck prickle at the sight of the dog. The big brute was on a chain that encircled the man's wrist. It slunk along, the moonlight accentuating the rolling muscles under its glossy coat.
Don remained motionless, watching these two as they walked quietly on, and until they had disappeared into the darkness.
He drew in a breath of relief, thinking that if he had taken the risk and had crossed the lawn, the dog would have been savaging him by now.
He looked again towards the house, reluctant to retreat, but baffled as to how he could get near it without being seen.
Refusing to give up, he started forward, moving this time much more cautiously and examining every yard of the ground before leaving cover to dart to another shrub. Moving in this way, it took him some minutes to get around to the east side of the house. Here the lawn narrowed, and the shrubs encroached. There was only forty yards or so of open ground to the house. Keeping behind a tree, he looked up at the house. On this side, all the windows were in darkness, but he couldn't tell if someone was in a dark room, looking down on the lawn.
A wide, ornate terrace with a marble balustrade and wide marble steps leading to the garden ran the length of this side of the house. Don saw that he would not only have to cross the lawn, but would also have to run up the steps on which fell the light of the moon if he were to get close to the house.
It it were not for the wolf-hound, he would have gone ahead, but the thought of the dog made him decide against taking the risk.
The next step was to find out who owned the house. It shouldn't be difficult. The great thing was not to show his hand before he was ready.
Crouching, he began to make his way through the shrubbery to where he had left Harry. He hadn't gone more than thirty yards or so when looking back, he saw something that pulled him up short.
Standing on the edge of the lawn was a wolf-hound, looking directly at where Don crouched. The dog's ears were pricked and its head was on one side as if it were listening.
Don remained motionless, his heart thumping. Had the dog heard him? The slight breeze was blowing from the dog to Don: it was unlikely the dog had picked up his scent.
He saw the dog lower its head and come forward slowly until it reached the middle of the lawn, then it stopped.
Don felt a trickle of sweat run down his face, but he was careful not to move. He and the dog remained motionless for at least a minute, and it seemed to Don to be an hour.
Then from out of the shadows around the house, the thick-set man with the automatic rifle under his arm appeared. He came out into the moonlight and paused, watching the dog.
The dog looked back at him and whined, took a couple of steps forward, then stopped to look back again.
'Come here!' the man shouted roughly. He spoke in Italian.
The dog hesitated, then turning it slunk towards the man who snapped on the chain to its collar.
Don watched the man walk away towards the west side of the house, the dog obediently slinking at his heels.
When they were out of sight, Don began to move again. He was now anxious to get out of these dangerous grounds, and he increased speed. He didn't realize that as he moved from one shrub to another he had stepped on a concealed metal plate that touched off the alarm bell in the house.
He kept on, looking for the path along which he had come, but not finding it. He paused to check his position, knowing that the path had to be somewhere close by. It was then that he heard the alarm bell ringing. The sound came to him faintly, but it was unmistakably an alarm bell.
He straightened up and looked to right and left, guessing that somehow he had touched a hidden connection that had set off the alarm. Then he saw the gigantic negro coming across the lawn and he caught the glitter of a knife the negro held in his hand.
The sight of the negro, moving across the moonlit lawn with the speed of a black panther, would have unnerved most people, but Don refused to give way to nerves. He ducked down behind a shrub and waited.
The negro entered the shrubbery fifty yards or so from the point where Don crouched. He paused to listen.
Out into the moonlight came the thick-set man and the wolfhound. He caught sight of the negro and stopped, dragging the straining dog back on to its haunches. The dog was snarling and barking-and trying to get off its chain. Three other men appeared from around the back of the house, each with a struggling wolfhound on a chain.
The negro waved to them, motioning them to wait. Then he began to walk very slowly towards the spot where Don was hiding.
Through the shrubs, Don could see the four men and the dogs,-standing in a line looking towards him. He could hear the gentle swish of leaves, as the great, muscular body of the negro came towards him. Peering up, he caught sight of the negro, now within six feet of him, his brutal black face alert, the knife gripped between his thick fingers.
Don held his breath and waited. There was a long pause. He could hear the wind sighing in the trees, the heavy breathing of the negro and the snarling of the dogs as they strained on their chains. Then he heard the negro move on, passing him by a few yards. Still Don waited. He guessed his slightest move would be heard by the negro.
The negro covered several yards of the shrubbery before it occurred to him that he was wasting time. If anyone were hiding here, the dogs would hunt him out. He stood up to his full height and shouted, 'Let the dawgs in here.'
