His face had hardened. Now his voice was hard too—hard and fatal. “May I have a look at him?” I said. The sense of mystery was returning upon me. I tried to combat it by speaking bluntly, expressing my desire plainly. At least, I would no longer deal in subterfuge. Instead of answering my question he said, throwing a curious, wavering glance upon me, “Are you engaged to-night?” I was, but I said at once, “I’m entirely at your service, Vernon.” “Dine with me, then.” “Here?” “Yes, here.” “Certainly.” “That’s right. And now let’s have some music. I’ve got a new piano since last year.” We spent the next hour with Richard Strauss and Saint-Saëns. XI Night had closed in. Vernon and I were seated opposite to one another at the oval dining-table. Cragg waited upon us. Now and then, as he moved softly to and fro, I glanced at him, and I thought I detected in his well-trained face a flicker of anxiety as his eyes rested upon his master, a flicker of appeal as they rested upon me. It seemed to me at such times that he wanted me to do something to help Vernon, that he was longing to have a word with me alone. The dinner was excellent, but Vernon ate scarcely anything. He talked, however, a good deal, though hardly with his usual nerve and relish. When dessert was on the table, he said— “Bring us our coffee here, Cragg; at least, one black coffee.” “Yes, Sir.” “I won’t take it,” Vernon said to me. “I’ve been sleeping wretchedly lately. Morphia would be more the thing for me than coffee.” “I knew you had been suffering from insomnia.” He laughed drearily. “I don’t look up to much, do I?” Cragg brought my coffee and cigars. “You can leave us now, Cragg; go and have your supper; go downstairs.” The man looked slightly surprised, but said nothing and went away. When he had gone Vernon lit a cigar, puffed out some rings of smoke, watched them curling up towards the ceiling, then said— “You wanted to have a look at the spaniel, didn’t you?” “Yes,” I said. “Well, if I bring him in, be careful with him, will you?” “Careful with him! Why? Is he dangerous?” “I don’t say that. But he’s got an odd temper. I keep him muzzled.” “In the house?” “Yes, always. I don’t want to be bitten. You remember how Deeming died? Well, I don’t want to die like that.” His mention of Deeming gave me an opportunity of which I at once availed myself. “That was a sad business,” I said. “Did you see much of him before he died, as you were living next door?” “Oh,” he interrupted, “Deeming was not a friendly neighbour. Do you know that I took your advice?” “What advice?” “To get into his house as a patient.” “You really did that!” “Yes. One morning, as he never invited me in as a friend, I went in as a patient.” “How did he take it?” “Well, he could hardly decline to treat me. It happened that I was really unwell at the time, so I had a good excuse.”