“I tell you,” I said, “that poodle belongs to the gentleman over there.” And I pointed to the colonel, seeing that it was best now to bring him into the affair without delay. “You are wrong,” he said, doggedly; “ze poodle is my poodle! And I was direct to you--it is your name on ze carte!” And he presented me with that fatal card which I had been foolish enough to give to Blagg as a proof of my identity. I saw it all now; the old villain had betrayed me, and to earn a double reward had put the real owner on my track. I decided to call the colonel at once, and attempt to brazen it out with the help of his sincere belief in the dog. “Eh, what’s that; what’s it all about?” said the colonel, bustling up, followed at intervals by the others. The Frenchman raised his hat again. “I do not vant to make a trouble,” he began, “but zere is leetle mistake. My word of honour, sare, I see my own poodle in your garden. Ven I appeal to zis gentilman to restore ‘im he reffer me to you.” “You must allow me to know my own dog, sir,” said the colonel. “Why, I’ve had him from a pup. Bingo, old boy, you know your name, don’t you?” But the brute ignored him altogether, and began to leap wildly at the hedge in frantic efforts to join the Frenchman. It needed no Solomon to decide _his_ ownership! “I tell you, you ‘ave got ze wrong poodle--it is my own dog, my Azor! He remember me well, you see? I lose him, it is three, four days. . . . I see a nottice zat he is found, and ven I go to ze address zey tell me, ‘Oh, he is reclaim, he is gone viz a strangaire who has advertise.’ Zey show me ze placard; I follow ‘ere, and ven I arrive I see my poodle in ze garden before me!” “But look here,” said the colonel, impatiently; “it’s all very well to say that, but how can you prove it? I give you _my_ word that the dog belongs to _me_! You must prove your claim, eh, Travers?” “Yes,” said Travers, judicially; “mere assertion is no proof; it’s oath against oath at present.” “Attend an instant; your poodle, was he ‘ighly train, had he some talents--a dog viz tricks, eh?” “No, he’s not,” said the colonel; “I don’t like to see dogs taught to play the fool; there’s none of that nonsense about _him_, sir!” “Ah, remark him well, then. _Azor, mon chou, danse donc un peu_!” And, on the foreigner’s whistling a lively air, that infernal poodle rose on his hind legs and danced solemnly about half-way round the garden! We inside followed his movements with dismay. “Why, dash it all!” cried the disgusted colonel, “he’s dancing along like a d--d mountebank! But it’s my Bingo, for all that!” “You are not convince? You shall see more. Azor, ici! Pour Beesmarck, Azor!” (the poodle barked ferociously.) “Pour Gambetta!” (He wagged his tail and began to leap with joy.) “Meurs pour la patrie!” And the too accomplished animal rolled over as if killed in battle! “Where could Bingo have picked up so much French?” cried Lilian, incredulously.