There seemed nothing more to be done just then, and as I saw a patient coming out and looking for his hat in the hall, I went away. That evening I wrote to Deeming, telling him I had called to see if I could persuade him to take a stroll, as I was sure his health needed some rest, air, and relaxation. “Will you come for a walk in Regent’s Park some Sunday morning?” I ended, regardless of the butler’s information. He answered, by return, that he would come, if I liked, on the following Sunday. I replied, fixing the hour, and saying I would call for him. This done, I went out and—bought a dog. It was a gay fox-terrier, young, full of abounding life, and quite ready to attach itself to anyone who was kind to it. When Sunday arrived, it was already devoted to me, and gleefully accompanied me to Wimpole Street to fetch Deeming for the promised walk. While I rang the bell it squatted on the step, wagging its short tail, and looking eagerly expectant. The butler opened the door. “The Doctor is quite ready, Sir,” he said, when he saw me. “Will you step in?” Suddenly he caught sight of the dog, who had jumped up when the door was opened, and was evidently preparing for exploration. “Is that your dog, Sir?” “Yes,” I said. “I don’t think the Doctor⸺ Get back, you little beast!” The last exclamation came in a voice so different from the whispering one I was accustomed to that I could hardly believe it was the butler who had spoken. At the same moment my dog dodged his outstretched foot and vanished, pattering, into the house. [Illustration: “AS HE VANISHED, DEEMING APPEARED AT THE HALL DOOR.”] “Call him back, Sir; call him back, for the Lord’s sake, or there’ll be trouble!” exclaimed the butler, turning sharply with the evident intention of trying to catch the little culprit. But he had no time to act nor I to call. Almost as he spoke there came from within the house the piercing cry of a dog in pain, and the fox-terrier darted out of the hall, down the street, and disappeared, yelping shrilly as he went, with his ears set flat against his head, and his tail tucked down in his back. As he vanished, Deeming appeared at the hall-door. “How dare you let stray dogs into my house?” he said to the butler in a savage voice. “I beg pardon, Sir,” stammered the butler; “but it was this gentleman’s dog, and⸺” “It was your dog, was it?” said Deeming, turning to me. “I did not know you had a dog.” I was feeling so angry that I could hardly trust myself to speak. “Certainly it’s mine,” I said curtly. “I must go and find it.”