The weight upon Mr Musgrave's conscience attendant on the duplicity which he of necessity was called upon to practise daily was so burdensome that he was imperatively moved to confide in some one, and thereby share, if not shift, the responsibility. Some idea of confiding in Walter Errol had been with him from the first; and, meeting the vicar one morning when he was returning from an early walk with Diogenes, the desire to unburden his mind hardened to a determination upon perceiving the amazement in the vicar's eyes as they rested upon the dog he led an unwilling captive on the chain. The vicar halted in the road and laughed. "I heard you were starting kennels," he said; "but, upon my word! I didn't believe it. Wherever did you buy that dog?" Mr Musgrave had not bought Diogenes and he had no intention of pretending that he had. "It was given to me," he said. "Oh, that explains it," the vicar answered. But even while he spoke it occurred to Mr Musgrave that the dog had not been given to him; he had offered to take it. "I am taking care of it for some one," he corrected himself. The vicar looked mystified and faintly amused. "That's doing a lot for friendship, isn't it, John?" he asked. John Musgrave reddened. "Is obliging a friend an excessive courtesy?" he inquired. "Well, no. I stand rebuked." The vicar stooped and patted Diogenes and looked him over critically. "It's a funny thing," he said, "but he's extraordinarily like the bull they had up at the Hall--except, of course, for his colour." "He is," Mr Musgrave said, firing off his bomb as calmly as though he were making a very ordinary statement, "the same dog." "Oh!" said the vicar, and straightened himself and looked John Musgrave squarely in the eyes. "I understood," he said, "that Diogenes was shot." "Diogenes ought to have been shot," replied Mr Musgrave, and it ran through his mind at the moment to wish that Diogenes had been shot, but he checked the ungenerous thought, and added: "Miss Annersley rescued him and smuggled him away. He is, as a matter of fact, in hiding from the authorities." "Which accounts," remarked the vicar, "for his colour." He stooped to pat Diogenes again in order to conceal from his friend's eyes the smile in his own. "And Miss Annersley brought him to you?" he said, with the mental addition, "Little baggage?" "No," said Mr Musgrave, and proceeded with great care to outline the facts of the case, omitting details as far as possible. "She was so very upset," he finished. "And really it seemed regrettable to sacrifice a valuable dog after the mischief was done. The only uneasiness I feel in the matter is in regard to the Chadwicks. I should not like to annoy them." "I think you may put that fear out of your thoughts at least," Mr Errol replied. "Only yesterday Mr Chadwick was telling me how vexed he was to have been obliged to destroy the dog. He expressed the wish that he had sent him away instead."