Detective and mystery stories; England -- Fiction; Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction
Before Ferdy could accept her apology, and kiss her, as he seemed
inclined to do, there was a furious barking outside, and the angry
voice of a man. Clarice stepped out on to the terrace. "There's Jane
at Dr. Jerce again," she said, hastily, and went to the rescue.
Jerce, with a very white and angry face, was repelling with his
umbrella the assault of a tawny dog of the mongrel collie species,
with savage white teeth and blazing topaz eyes. Jane--as the animal
was called--cherished a deep hatred for Jerce, notwithstanding that he
had been her former master, and had presented her to Miss Baird. On
all occasions she attacked him, and was usually shut up when the
doctor was expected. That Jane was lame in the left hind-leg did not
prevent her from making furious darts at Jerce, until Clarice caught
her deftly by the collar.
"That damned dog will be the death of me," said Jerce, when Jane,
handed over to Ferdy, was dragged away, growling and snapping. "I beg
your pardon for swearing, Miss Baird, but--"
"I am very sorry, doctor," said Clarice, leading the way back to the
drawing-room. "Jane was shut up as usual, but must have got loose
while the groom was at the funeral. I wonder why she hates you so?"
"I don't know," said Jerce, seating himself, and recovering his
calmness. "I get on first-rate with dogs, but Jane never did like me.
I gave her to you, Miss Baird, because she never would be friends with
me. The she-devil--I beg your pardon again--but I am quite sure that
Jane will kill me some day."
"Nonsense. Her bark is worse than her bite."
"Then I hope she won't bark again, that's all. Ungrateful beast, I
picked her up in Whitechapel on a wet day, streaming with water and
starving with hunger. She had a good home with me, until her temper
made me get rid of her."
"Perhaps her lameness makes her fractious," said Clarice. "Jane is
really a good-tempered dog as a rule."
"Her lameness," echoed Jerce, after a pause, and then smiled in an odd
way. "Why, yes, Miss Baird. That might have something to do with her
temper. However, now that she's tied up--"
"Shut up, you mean," said Ferdy, who had now returned.
"Let us say disposed of," observed the doctor, genially, "and end the
subject. Well, my dear Miss Baird," he added, gently, "now that our
dear friend has been buried, we must learn how things are to be
arranged."
"Mr. Barras will tell us that," said Clarice, glancing at the French
clock on the mantelpiece. "He has not yet come!"
"He'll be here in a few moments," said Jerce, cheerily. "I saw him
walking up the High Street. Ah!"--as there came a sharp ring at the
front door--"there he is. Do you want me to remain?"
"Yes, do," urged Clarice; "both Ferdy and I would like you to be
present at the reading of the will. You are our best friend."
"I should like to be something nearer and dearer," breathed Jerce, as
the door opened, and Clarice rose to welcome the lawyer.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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