The dog was muzzled, and had on a collar to which a steel chain was attached; but, for the first moment, the only thing that struck me was his thinness. He was excessively thin—almost emaciated. He sat on his master’s knee, with his chin on the edge of the table and his yellow eyes gazing at me. A long trembling ran through his body, ceased, and was renewed with a regularity that reminded me of the ticking of a clock. Vernon kept his two hands upon the spaniel. They shuddered on the dog’s back when he shuddered. “Well,” Vernon said. “What do you think of him?” “He’s horribly thin,” I said. “Horribly.” I turned my eyes from the spaniel to Vernon’s face. “Do you think⸺” I began and hesitated. “What?” he asked calmly. “Do you think you give him enough to eat?” I said. “Oh, it’s very bad for dogs to overfeed,” he answered. “Nothing ruins their health like overeating, and spaniels are like pugs, inclined to be greedy.” I noticed that he had not answered my question. He lifted one hand, laid it on the spaniel’s head, and smoothed the black hair, moving his hand backwards to the neck. The dog turned its head back towards him and showed his white teeth, as if his master’s hand drew him but to a demonstration of hatred, not of affection. Vernon smiled, lifted his hand, and repeated the action. The dog gave a low growl ending in a whine. “Now you haven’t told me what you think of him,” Vernon continued, “and I want to know. I want very much to know.” I looked into the spaniel’s eyes, and again something cold lay upon my nerves like ice. “Why?” I said. “What does it matter what I think?” “Do answer my question!” Vernon said with unwonted irritation. “There’s something about the dog,” I said, “that’s—that’s⸺” “Yes?” he said sharply. “That’s uncanny.” “Ah!” The word was a long-drawn sigh. “You think that!” “Yes, I shouldn’t care to have him about me. I shouldn’t care to sleep with him in my room.” “Sleep! Heaven forbid!” His exclamation was almost shrill. It startled me. “Where does the dog sleep?” I asked. “Where do you put him at night?” “There’s a dressing-room opening out of my bedroom. He’s shut in there.” “And you—you say you’ve been sleeping badly lately?” “I haven’t been sleeping at all.” “Does he whine? Does he disturb you?” “He never makes a sound at night. I think he’s afraid that if he did I should punish him. He’s evidently had an unkind master, poor fellow.” There was something so hideously insincere in Vernon’s voice as he said the last words that I could not help expressing the thought, the suspicion that had been, that was haunting me. “Has he got a kind master now?” I said. I fixed my eyes on Vernon’s. “Has he?” I repeated.