"Very well, if you say so. Many thanks. I'll step over to the Hippodrome and see your show to-night." "Do. You'll be surprised." The two men talked for a few moments longer, and then Zero's new owner said that he must be getting back to lunch. "You really think the dog will follow me?" he said. "I don't want to take a lead?" "I know he'll follow you. I tell you I know dogs. They take fancies sometimes. You can take that dog out, and if I call him back myself he wouldn't come." "I bet you a sovereign he would." "I'll take that," said Smith. "You go on with him, and I'll wait here." The young man walked a few yards away with the dog at his heels, and then Smith called the dog back, loudly and insistently. The dog did not give the slightest sign that he had heard anything at all. When his master stood still, he remained standing patiently at his heel, and never once looked back. The young man laughed as he took out his sovereign-case. "Queer chap, Zero. Well, you've won, Mr Smith. Catch!" Mr Smith caught the sovereign adroitly, and went back into the stable. "Yes," he said to the cleverest of the black poodles, "I don't know that I wouldn't sooner he'd taken you." It was seldom that Smith addressed any of his dogs, except to give an order. The poodle did not know what to make of it. He whined faintly. Richard Staines went back to his hotel, with Zero at his heels. He had his own sitting-room opening into his bedroom at the hotel, and he intended to keep the dog there at night. This was against the laws of the hotel; therefore Staines had to pause a few moments in the hall to get the laws altered. One of the arguments he used was that he would only be there two days longer, and it would not matter for so short a time. The other argument was bribery and corruption. After which he and Zero went up in the lift together. CHAPTER II Staines was a partner in succession to his father in an old-established firm of stockbrokers with a good connection. He had a small flat in St James's Place, and thither he brought Zero. Zero accepted metropolitan life philosophically. There was a dingy cat in the basement of St James's Place, and he was quite willing to make friends with her. He looked mildly puzzled at her definite assurance that she would kill him if he came a step nearer. It never occurred to him to attempt to injure her. But for one slight lapse--he had killed a collie, and cost Staines compensation--his behaviour was admirable. He was fortunate in having a master who was fond of outdoor life, and not at all fond of London. Every week-end, and occasionally on a fine afternoon, if business was slack, he got away into the country. He never quite seemed to understand the terror which his appearance inspired in some young or foolish people. When children rushed from him shrieking, he would look up at his master as much as to say, "Can you understand this?" And he was careful not to increase their terror by running after them.