I drew more lines in my head last night and this morning, but before I'd created a satisfactory picture we had a caller.

I barked twice when the door chimes sounded, because it was expected of me. The master went to the door and I followed.

A tall, solidly built man, dark-haired, was on the stoop, and he smiled.

«Hello,» he said, «my name's Larry Talbot. I'm your new neighbor, and I thought I'd come by and pay my respects.»

«Won't you come in and have a cup of tea with me?» Jack said.

«Thank you.»

Jack led him into the parlor and seated him, excused himself, and went to the kitchen. I stayed in the parlor and watched. Talbot glanced several times at the palm of his hand. Then he studied me.

«Good boy,» he said.

I opened my mouth, let my tongue hang out, and panted a few times. But I did not approach him. There was something about the way he smelled, an underlying suggestion of wildness, that puzzled me.

Jack returned with a tray of tea and biscuits and they chatted for a time, about the neighborhood, the weather, the recent rash of grave robbings, the killings. I watched them, two big men, the air of the predator about each, sipping their tea now and discussing the exotic flowers Talbot cultivated and how they might fare, even indoors, in this climate.

Then came a terrible crash from the attic.

I departed the room immediately, bounding up the stair, swinging around corners. Up another stair… .

The wardrobe doors were open. The Thing stood before it.

«Free!» it announced, flexing its limbs, furling and unfurling its dark, scaly wings. «Free!»

«Like hell!» I said, curling back my lips and leaping.