“Call on Deeming. He’s a hospitable man, and if you entertain him here in Rome, he is sure to ask you out in London. There you can see for yourself whether his dog isn’t properly treated, as I’ll swear she is, and as happy as dog can be.” I spoke lightly, even with a deliberately jocose and chaffing air. He listened to me gravely. “I will invite Deeming here,” he said. “Indeed, I intended to in any case, as he is a friend of yours.” “Thank you.” “But you say he usually entertains in restaurants when he is in London. I have no reason to think I shall ever set my foot inside his house.” The extreme gravity of his manner, the earnestness of the eyes that were fixed upon me, made me realise how strong was his strange desire, and therefore, how strong was his—as I thought then—absurd and unreasonable suspicion. I might have continued to laugh at it, and chaff him about it, but I did not. Something in his face and manner made me unable to do so, made me suddenly conscious that, however much I laughed, I could never laugh him out of his curious, and surely morbid, anxiety to verify, or lull to rest, his fears. And I must confess—so easily are we influenced by certain convinced people whom we care for—that I, too, was becoming, at that moment, oddly interested in this matter of Deeming and his black spaniel. Why had I never seen the dog, never heard Deeming mention it till the other night? “If Deeming doesn’t invite you to his house,” I said, changing my tone, “there’s a very easy method of getting into it.” “What method?” said Vernon eagerly. “Go to him as a patient.” I had scarcely said the words before I felt uncomfortable, almost traitorous. Here was I entering into something that was like a plot with one friend to get at a knowledge of another which that other had never voluntarily tendered to me. I was angry with myself. “Upon my word, Vernon,” I exclaimed, “I’m ashamed of myself! Don’t let us discuss this matter any longer. Deeming and you are both my friends, and I wish to act always fairly and squarely by you both.” “What unfairness is there in enabling me to prove the folly and falseness of my suspicions?” he rejoined quickly. “I know—I know; but—oh, the whole thing is really absurd. It is madness to think such things of a man with no evidence to go upon.” “How do you know that I have no evidence?” “How can you have any?” “Are a man’s words no evidence? Is his face while he says them no evidence?” “Did you talk about his dog when he was here this afternoon?” I asked abruptly, moved by a sudden impression that he was keeping something from me. “He wouldn’t talk about her. I am quite certain of one thing.” “What is that?” “That Deeming wishes now that he had never mentioned to us that he had a dog.” I suppose I looked incredulous, for he added, without giving me time to speak— “When you see him again, try to turn the conversation upon the black spaniel, and see how he takes it. And now let us talk of something else.”