“My intuition—apart from anything else,” he said—“my intuition tells me
that Deeming is a cruel man.”
“I don’t believe it. Vivisection⸺”
“I’m not thinking of that now. What I am thinking is that I should like
to see Deeming’s dog.”
“That wouldn’t be difficult, I imagine.”
“You don’t mean that she is with him here, in Rome?”
“Oh no. A dog in a hotel is apt to be a nuisance.”
“I don’t agree with you.”
“Well, well; but you always come to London in the late summer. I
suppose you’ll do so this year?”
“Probably.”
“Call on Deeming. He’s a hospitable man, and if you entertain him here
in Rome, he is sure to ask you out in London. There you can see for
yourself whether his dog isn’t properly treated, as I’ll swear she is,
and as happy as dog can be.”
I spoke lightly, even with a deliberately jocose and chaffing air. He
listened to me gravely.
“I will invite Deeming here,” he said. “Indeed, I intended to in any
case, as he is a friend of yours.”
“Thank you.”
“But you say he usually entertains in restaurants when he is in London.
I have no reason to think I shall ever set my foot inside his house.”
The extreme gravity of his manner, the earnestness of the eyes that
were fixed upon me, made me realise how strong was his strange desire,
and therefore, how strong was his—as I thought then—absurd and
unreasonable suspicion. I might have continued to laugh at it, and
chaff him about it, but I did not. Something in his face and manner
made me unable to do so, made me suddenly conscious that, however much
I laughed, I could never laugh him out of his curious, and surely
morbid, anxiety to verify, or lull to rest, his fears. And I must
confess—so easily are we influenced by certain convinced people whom we
care for—that I, too, was becoming, at that moment, oddly interested in
this matter of Deeming and his black spaniel. Why had I never seen the
dog, never heard Deeming mention it till the other night?
“If Deeming doesn’t invite you to his house,” I said, changing my tone,
“there’s a very easy method of getting into it.”
“What method?” said Vernon eagerly.
“Go to him as a patient.”
I had scarcely said the words before I felt uncomfortable, almost
traitorous. Here was I entering into something that was like a plot
with one friend to get at a knowledge of another which that other had
never voluntarily tendered to me. I was angry with myself.
“Upon my word, Vernon,” I exclaimed, “I’m ashamed of myself! Don’t let
us discuss this matter any longer. Deeming and you are both my friends,
and I wish to act always fairly and squarely by you both.”
“What unfairness is there in enabling me to prove the folly and
falseness of my suspicions?” he rejoined quickly.
“I know—I know; but—oh, the whole thing is really absurd. It is madness
to think such things of a man with no evidence to go upon.”
“How do you know that I have no evidence?”
“How can you have any?”
“Are a man’s words no evidence? Is his face while he says them no
evidence?”
“Did you talk about his dog when he was here this afternoon?” I asked
abruptly, moved by a sudden impression that he was keeping something
from me.
“He wouldn’t talk about her. I am quite certain of one thing.”
“What is that?”
“That Deeming wishes now that he had never mentioned to us that he had
a dog.”
I suppose I looked incredulous, for he added, without giving me time to
speak—
“When you see him again, try to turn the conversation upon the black
spaniel, and see how he takes it. And now let us talk of something
else.”
During the rest of the evening Deeming and his dog were not mentioned.
Vernon resumed, almost like a garment, his old self, the self I had
always known, cultured, gentle in manner, full of interest in every
topic that lent itself to quiet discussion and amiable debate. The evil
spirit—I thought of it as almost that—had departed out of him, and
when I got up to go I could hardly believe that I had ever been the
recipient of his vehemence, or seen his eyes blazing with the light of
scarcely controlled passion. He came with me to the hall-door and let
me out into the quiet night.
“Good-bye,” he said, pressing my hand.
“Good-bye,” I answered.