CHAPTER XCII.
THE WHER-WOLF.
About a quarter of an hour before this, Mr.Paul Dangerfield was packing two trunks in his little parlour, and burning letters industriously in the fire, when his keen ear caught a sound at which a prophetic instinct within him vibrated alarm.

A minute or two before he had heard a stealthy footstep outside.

Then he heard the cook walk along the passage, muttering to herself, to the hall-door, where there arose a whispering.

He glanced round his shoulder at the window.

It was barred.
Then lifting the table and its load lightly from before him, he stood erect, fronting the door, and listening intently.