“What made him buy it?” said Lord Elyn.
“I’ve no idea” I answered.
And indeed at that moment I was wondering, wondering almost
passionately.
“I’ll swear he doesn’t like the dog,” said Lord Elyn, still with
vehemence. “He may be as fond of animals as you like, but he isn’t fond
of this one.”
“If he hadn’t taken a liking to it why should he buy it?”
“That’s more than I can say. It’s a queer business. I had an idea
that—that you perhaps, had some inkling what was up.”
And again his look questioned me.
“I haven’t indeed,” I said.
And I spoke the truth. I was in the dark, in blackness.
A hansom passed us slowly at this moment. Lord Elyn hailed it.
“I must get home,” he said. “I’m dining out. Shall I give you a lift?”
“No, thank you. I’ll walk. I like the exercise.”
“Good-bye, then.”
He stepped into the cab and drove off, while I walked slowly back to
Albemarle Street.
Lord Elyn had made my thoughts clearer to me by his blunt expressions.
He had asked me if I had any inkling of what was up, and, when he said
that, I knew quite certainly that, to use that slangy phrase, I thought
something was up. Vernon had been moved by some strange impulse to buy
the black spaniel, had some strange purpose in connection with it. I
felt sure of this. My instinct told me that it was so. What had caused
this impulse? What was this purpose?