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Reeve, Arthur B. (Arthur Benjamin), 1880-1936

"Guy Garrick"


I wonder how our friend of the garage likes it, Tom? It is some of
his own medicine--the Chief, I mean. He tried it on us on a small
scale very successfully that night with his stupefying gun."
"I hope one of them hit him," ground out Dillon, who had no relish
even for the recollection of that night. "What next? Do you have
to wait until the gases clear away before we can make a break and
go in there?"
Garrick had anticipated the question. Already he was buttoning up
his long coat. We did the same, mechanically.
"No, Dillon. You and Jim stay here," ordered Garrick. "You will
get the signal from us what to do next. Tom, come on."
He had already dashed ahead into the darkness, and I followed
blindly, stumbling over a ploughed field, then a fence over which
we climbed quickly, and found ourselves in the enclosure where was
the house. I had no idea what we were running up against, but a
dog which had been chained in the rear broke away from his
fastening at sight of us, and ran at us with a lusty and savage
growl.


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