t. Then, as the man walked back
to the Styles' farmhouse, the dog turned and disappeared in the bushes
as if following a trail.

"Don't come here, old lady," muttered the detective, as he stood on
guard, with the atomizer ready for use. "If you do you'll be sorry."

The mastiff was following Adam Adams' trail and in a minute more she
came up and set up a fierce growl. Then she made a savage leap forward.

The detective might have finished her with a shot from his pistol, for
he was an expert marksman. But he had come prepared to strike a blow
without making any noise. As the mastiff sprang at him, he held the
atomizer at full length and let a portion of the contents fly full into
the animal's face. There was a snarl and a gasp and the magnificent
canine fell over on her side. Leaping forward, the detective held the
atomizer at the dog's nostrils and used it vigorously for a few
seconds. It was more than sufficient for his purpose and soon the
animal stiffened out in death.

"It's a shame to kill so fine a brute, but it can't be helped," he
muttered as he restored the atomizer to his pocket. He had used a
mixture of chloroform, carbolic acid and other drugs, and the dog had
been blinded as well as smothered by the application.

He left the mastiff where she had fallen and, as the darkness
increased, drew closer to the mill. Then he saw a man approaching and
recognized Matlock Styles. The Englishman entered the old mill,
closing the door carefully behind him.

"More ghost work, I suppose," murmured the detective, but he was
mistaken, no such manifestations occurring. Evidently they were to
take place later.

Without making a sound he crawled up to a side door of the old mill.
It was unfastened, and pushing it open, he entered the lower floor of
the building. All was silent.

He waited and after awhile heard a step overhead and a low murmur of
voices. Then a man came down a narrow stairs, carrying a pole, a white
sheet and a round, flat pan in which evidently something had been burnt.

"Looks like the ghost outfit," thought Adam Adams, as he crouched down
behind some empty boxes and bins.

The fellow was tall, broad-shouldered and powerful looking, and Adam
Adams felt certain he was not Matlock Styles. He wore a thin white bag
over his head, with two holes for seeing purposes, and in one hand
carried a flash lantern.

To the detective matters seemed to be growing tremendously interesting.

The