"Better not, maister!" pleaded Jim.

The old man cursed, smote him across the neck with the butt-end of his whip, and unlocked the doors himself.

Jim, though half stunned, staggered forward to prevent him, and took another blow, which felled him.

He dropped across the threshold of Chorister's kennel; the doors of all opened outwards, and the weight of his body kept this one shut.

But he saw the other three hounds run out, saw the Squire turn with a ghastly face, drop the lantern, and run for it as White Boy snapped at his boot.