“Of course. You don’t choose to tell me your reason for wishing to stop
at Dover?”
“I think you’ve guessed it.”
He unrolled the rug from his legs and got up.
“I’m going to take some medicine, too. Think over the Burlington and
tell me presently.”
In a moment I saw him join Lord Elyn, and they walked up and down
together, talking busily.
Of course, I had “guessed it.” He wanted to meet Deeming again, to
meet him directly we landed in England. My previous suspicion—it had
been almost more than a suspicion—was confirmed. I felt positive now
that Vernon had cut short his stay in Rome, given up his June there,
in order to follow Deeming to London and try to see more of him. The
obsession of the black spaniel—I called it that now in my mind for
the first time—was still upon him, had been upon him ever since the
night when I had made my two friends acquainted with each other in the
winter garden of the Grand Hotel. And Deeming? Had he really invented
an imaginary patient in order to have a good excuse for leaving Rome
and so avoiding Vernon’s dinner? If that were so, then I was assisting
at a sort of man-hunt, in which two of my friends were pursued and
pursuer. I began to feel as if I were going to be involved in
something extraordinary. And yet how vague, how fantastic it all was!
And my own position? I tried to review it. If I assisted Vernon in any
way, could I be called—or rather, should I be, that was the only thing
that mattered—disloyal to Deeming? I felt rather uncomfortable, and
yet—and this was strange—rather excited. I thought of my conversation
with Vernon about London. I had been absent from it for some time,
yet already, and on the sea, I felt affected by its powerful and
dreadful influence, felt that curious sense of apprehension which I had
mentioned to Vernon in the train. Suddenly I resolved to fall in with
my friend’s wish to stay the night at Dover. After all, what did it
matter? He and Deeming would certainly meet in London. Why strive to
postpone the meeting? It seemed to me—I was thinking somewhat absurdly,
I acknowledge it—that it would be better, safer, that the encounter
should take place at Dover, under the white cliffs, with the sea-wind
coming in, perhaps, through open windows. London was mephitic, and
turned one to gloomy and morbid imaginations. The sea-wind might blow
away Vernon’s extraordinary suspicions of Deeming, and lay to rest the
obsession of the black spaniel.
Moved by this idea, when Vernon presently stopped before me with Lord
Elyn, I said—
“I give my vote for a night at the Burlington.”
“Capital!” said Vernon. “I’ve been telling Lord Elyn we thought of
staying, and he is sure our tweeds and coloured ties will be forgiven
us.”