“It was, and is, in my power to make at least some animals happy, as I had made my dead dog happy. I could not, and cannot, bring myself to do that. I feared and I fear too much to suffer again as I suffered when I lost Whisper, and when I learnt the truth about her end. That end has been a nightmare to me ever since. I cannot think of it even now without torture.” “My dear fellow,” I said. “Don’t dwell upon it. To do so is really morbid.” “I don’t dwell upon it, as a rule. Have I ever even mentioned this subject to you before?” “No, no. But⸺” “That man, your friend Deeming, has roused me up. I—I tell you that I hate—that it is almost unbearable to me to think of his having a dog—a black spaniel, like Whisper—in his power.” He said the last words with extraordinary vehemence. “That was what you meant then!” I exclaimed. “When you mistook me just now? Yes, that!” He relapsed into silence, but kept his still glowing eyes fixed upon me. I seemed to read in them that he had more to tell me, to see that there was some project, some intention of action, blazing in his mind. “Look here, Vernon,” I said, determined to be quite frank with him at whatever cost, “Deeming is a friend of mine.” “I know.” “That being so, I don’t think you can expect me to be ready to harbour foul suspicions of him without any reason for them being adduced. If he were to be suspicious of you, and told me so, I should speak to him as I speak to you now. What on earth has the man done or said to make you so violent—yes, my dear friend, that is the word—against him?” He did not look angry at my energy, but, on the other hand, he did not look doubtful or disposed towards modification. He only said, “How well do you know Deeming?” “Not very intimately, but well enough to feel sure that he is a humane man. Patients of his have spoken to me of him, of his skill, his care, and devotion in the highest terms.” “I don’t doubt it. I don’t doubt that he is humane as a doctor. Anyone can see that he is devoted to his profession, and his profession is to heal human suffering. Ambition alone would cause him to be humane—as a doctor.” “You said yourself you were a bit of a crank. Aren’t you ever afraid that your crankiness may lead you—now do forgive me!—into something approaching malice?” I thought he might be angry, but he wasn’t. “My intuition—apart from anything else,” he said—“my intuition tells me that Deeming is a cruel man.” “I don’t believe it. Vivisection⸺” “I’m not thinking of that now. What I am thinking is that I should like to see Deeming’s dog.” “That wouldn’t be difficult, I imagine.” “You don’t mean that she is with him here, in Rome?” “Oh no. A dog in a hotel is apt to be a nuisance.” “I don’t agree with you.” “Well, well; but you always come to London in the late summer. I suppose you’ll do so this year?” “Probably.”