This was Fate. Three seconds would have made all the difference but here I was, a dog. Conditions were reversed and I might as well be philosophical about it. Winnie never dreamed that conditions were not as they had been before the second of April, just as though Frank Jacklin had never existed. The chances were that he would continue to believe that it was all a dream, an hallucination. As for the F.B.I. and Von Bieberstein, putting first things first, that was no longer any of my business. Dogs were not expected to develop patriotism: that luxury was reserved for human beings. All I could do now was to wait my chance. Perhaps the time would come when I could repossess Winnie Tompkins' body. Then, by George! I would not waste one minute but would have him chloroformed at once. In the meantime, my cue was to be a good dog. There was a shrill whistle from the house. "Ponto!" Winnie's voice called. "Come here, Ponto. That's a good dog! Come on, Ponto! That's a good dog!" I ran, wagging my tail, to the open door and on all fours entered the house I had left only two hours before as its proud master. CHAPTER 34 I was lying down in the kitchen, near the stove, on an old rug which Mary-Myrtle had spread for me. She was really a nice girl. My educated nose informed me that she was kind, young and affectionate. When she entered the room I used to rear up and place my forepaws on her shoulders and lick her ears. She liked me. She used to put her arms around my neck and press against me and give me a smack on the back and a "Go on with you, can't you see I'm busy?" I was lying by the stove when Winnie Tompkins entered the kitchen. Mary-Myrtle was bending over the stove, fussing with a saucepan of vegetables. I was quietly sniffing with interest the combination of cooking-smells and the scents from the warm spring afternoon. Winnie strolled across the kitchen, took his thumb and forefinger and gave her a hard pinch on her buttock. "Oh! God!" she shrieked and turned to confront him. "Oh, you!" she observed. "I thought you'd got over all that!" He whistled between his teeth, put one tweed-clad arm around her shoulders and pressed her to him. "Go on!" she said, in a half-whisper. "I'll call Mrs. Tompkins." Still whistling, with his free hand he tilted her chin up to his face, stooped over and kissed her. I could see her hands flutter and press against his chest for a moment, then relax, then clutch him fiercely, as her lips thrust against his mouth. I rose and growled. "Hello!" Winnie exclaimed. "Why if it isn't Ponto? You jealous again, old boy? We can't have a moralist around here, can we, Myrtle?" He turned and kissed her again. I stalked over and stood, rumbling a bit, beside her, ready to attack if he carried his dalliance beyond decorum. "Let me go, sir," Myrtle begged in a hoarse whisper. "Tonight?" he asked, holding her close. "Yes," she sighed. "I'll come down, sir. Tonight, when the dishes are done and the house asleep."