Erebus measured the distance with the eye of an expert, just as there came into the farther end of the hall that large, flabby, pudding-faced young Pomeranian Briton, Mr.D'Arcy Rosenheimer.
"Where's the boacher ?" he roared in an eager, angry voice, reverting in his emotion to the ancestral "b." As the keeper turned to him Erebus sprang to the door and threw it wide.
"Bolt, Wiggins!" she cried.
Wiggins bolted for the door; the keeper grabbed at him and missed; the footman grabbed, and grabbed the interposing Erebus.

She slammed the door behind the vanished Wiggins.
Mr.D'Arcy Rosenheimer dashed heavily down the hall with a thick howl.
Erebus set her back against the door.

He caught her by the left arm to sling her out of the way.

It was a silly arm to choose, for she caught him a slap on his truly Pomeranian expanse of cheek with the full swing of her right, a slap that rang through the great hall like the crack of a whip-lash.

Mr.D'Arcy Rosenheimer was large but tender.