“Has he?” I repeated.
At that moment I wanted to force things. The entrance of the dog had
deepened my sense of moving in mystery until it became absolutely
intolerable. A hard determination took hold upon me to compel Vernon
to explain—what? I did not know. But that there was something to
be explained, some strange undercurrent of motive, of desire, of
intention, deep and furtive, I seemed to be aware.
“What do you mean?” Vernon said. “Surely you know my feeling for
animals.”
“I do.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I mean that as regards this animal, this spaniel, I don’t—I can’t
trust you,” I said. “I don’t know why it is, I don’t understand, I
don’t understand anything. But I don’t trust you, Vernon. That’s the
truth. It’s best to speak it.”
To my great surprise, he did not indignantly resent my words, nor did
he look guilty or ashamed. Indeed, it seemed to me that an expression
of something like relief flitted across his face as I finished speaking.
“I knew it,” he said. “I knew quite well you didn’t trust me. And
Gernham? Have you spoken to him of your mistrust?”
“He knows I don’t understand why you bought this dog, and what you’re
going to do to him. He knows I’m—I’m afraid of—of what you may be
going to do.”
He was silent, and again drew his hand across the spaniel’s soft black
coat. The dog struggled. He struck his open hand down on the dog’s
head, and the dog lay still, cowering upon his master’s knees.
“Gernham doesn’t enter into this,” he said inflexibly.
“And I?”
“You! That’s different. You introduced me to Deeming.”
Again the dog began to struggle upon his knees, but this time more
violently.
Vernon lifted his hand again.
“Put him down!” I said. “For God’s sake put him down! Don’t strike him!”
“Very well.”
He dropped the spaniel to the floor. The spaniel ran under the
dining-table. I sprang up from my seat.
“Don’t, don’t!” I began.
“It’s all right,” said Vernon. “I’ve got him by the chain.” He dragged
the spaniel out, and fastened him up to the sideboard at the far end of
the room.
“Why, you’re trembling!” he said, as he came back to his chair.
“Am I?” I said, ashamed. “I’m not a coward, but—but this dog—I can’t
stand him near me, close to me, when I can’t see what he’s doing.”
I cleared my throat, went to the window, threw it open, leaned out, and
spat. Leaving the window open, I came back to the table. The spaniel
was now lying down on the floor, close to the sideboard.
“What is it?” I said, almost fiercely, I think, in my inexplicable
physical distress, “what is it that’s wrong with the dog? What is it
that’s unnatural about him?”
“You have no idea?” said Vernon.
“Not the slightest. The poor beast seems harmless enough, though he’s
terrified. One can see that.”
“Exactly. He is terrified.”
“And the strange thing is that his terror terrifies me.”
“Now you’re getting to it,” Vernon said. “Why should the spaniel be
terrified?”
“Why? How should I know? Isn’t that for you to say?”
“Sit down again,” he said. “The dog can’t get to you now.”
As he spoke, he sat down. I glanced towards the dog, saw that what
Vernon had said was true, and followed his example.
“The dog’s terror,” he said. “Think of that, Luttrell! Seek for an
explanation in that.”
“I have, but I haven’t found one.”
“Whom is it terrified of?”
“Of you,” I answered. “The first time we saw him, I noticed that he
was abjectly terrified of you.”
“Perfectly true. Why should that be? Is it natural?”
“Utterly unnatural,” I said. “Unless he’s been badly, brutally treated,
and is afraid of everybody.”
“He is not afraid of everybody. He is only afraid of me. Was he afraid
of Lord Elyn?”
“No.”
“He is only afraid of me.”
“Are you certain?”
“Would you like to test it?”
“How?” I asked.
“I will leave the room for a moment—leave you alone with the dog.”
“No!” I exclaimed.
“You are afraid?”
“I’m not a coward, but there’s something about this spaniel which
horrifies my imagination as a spectre might horrify it.”
“Nevertheless, you must summon your courage. I wish it. I wish to know
how the spaniel will be with you when you are alone together. Come,
make the experiment.”
He got up and went towards the door. I did not try to keep him.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said.
And he went softly out of the room and shut the door behind him.
When he had gone, I sat where I was, looking at the black blot on the
floor by the sideboard. A strong curiosity was awake in me fighting my
strange physical repulsion. I longed to put the thing to the test, yet
I feared to approach the spaniel. How long I sat there I do not know,
how long I might have sat there I cannot tell had nothing occurred to
bias me towards action. But something did occur. The spaniel suddenly
whimpered softly, as if to attract my attention, whimpered again and
struck his feathery tail upon the floor. Those natural sounds of
an anxious dog reassured me. I got up quickly and went over to the
sideboard. Instantly, with a sort of strangled wail, the spaniel sprang
up, put his forepaws on my legs, and thrust his hot nose into my hand,
pushing, pushing hard, as if he sought to hide himself in a friendly
shelter. I felt a wetness on my hand, the wetness of an animal’s tears.
Then all my horror vanished and only pity remained. I knelt down on
the carpet. I put my arms round the dog. I felt his trembling body
with my hands. He was thin, hideously thin. His piteous eyes begged
something of me. Still holding him with one arm, I stretched out the
other, and opened a door in the sideboard. Within I saw a basket with
some cut bread in it. I took out the bread. The spaniel sprang upon
it passionately, tore it out of my hand, and devoured it ravenously.
Then a wave of hot indignation went over me. At that moment I hated
Vernon with all my soul. I hated him so much that I lost all sense of
everything except my fury against him. I held the dog tightly as I
knelt on the floor, and, turning my head towards the door, I called out—
“Vernon! Vernon!”
Instantly the door opened and Vernon appeared. The dog looked as he had
looked when he was being brought into the house.
“Vernon,” I said, “you’re a d⸺d blackguard!”
“Why?” he said.
“This dog is starving. You’re starving him! D’you hear? You’re starving
him!”
“I know I am,” he answered.
I got up. The spaniel rushed against my legs and leaned against them as
I stood.
“Then Gernham was right,” I said. “You are a madman.”
“Is it madness to see what is when others are blind to it?”
“To see—to see?” I exclaimed. “What is there to see but this dog, this
spaniel that you are torturing?”
“There is this spaniel—yes. Look at him. Look into his eyes. Look at
the soul in them.”
There was something compelling, something almost mystical, in his
voice. I looked down into the yellow eyes of the spaniel. They met
mine, then looked away from mine as if unable to bear my gaze.
“What is it?” I said, in a whisper. “What is it?”
Again I was assailed by the sensation which had come to me when I
waited in the hall to know if Vernon would receive me, a sensation
that, with the black spaniel, linked with it, mysteriously mingled with
it, was something of the man who was dead—something of Deeming.
“Deeming!” I stammered. “Deeming!”
I did not know what I meant, but I was compelled to pronounce the name
of my friend.
“Deeming?” I said once more, looking towards Vernon.
“Don’t you feel that he is here?” said Vernon.
“But he is dead.”
“Don’t you feel that he is here?”
“Yes,” I said. “But it can’t be. He is dead.”
“His body is dead—yes. But his soul, is that dead?”
When he said that, I understood what he meant, and I recoiled from the
black spaniel as from a nameless horror.
“Vernon!” I said. “Vernon!”
“Do you understand now?” he asked. “Do you understand why I bought
the spaniel, why I have kept the spaniel here in the house where he
tortured his dog? It was to punish him as he punished it, to torture
him as he tortured it. Directly I saw the spaniel crouching down in the
Park, directly I looked into his eyes, I knew. Deeming died on the
30th of June, the spaniel was born on that very day. The soul of the
dog-torturer passed at the death of the body of the man into the body
of the dog. I am not mad—no. I am only just. I am the instrument of the
justice of Providence. Deeming’s soul has been sent back into the world
to pay its penalty. And I am here to see that the penalty is paid.”
There was blazing in his eyes the light which I had seen in them for
the first time in the restaurant in Rome, the light which had made
Deeming say that in Vernon there was the spirit of a black fanatic.
“It’s not true!” I said. “It can’t be true!”
“But Lord Elyn has felt it, Cragg has felt it, you have felt it—the
strangeness of the spaniel. You know now, you know that what I say is
true. Deny that you know it is true! Deny it then!”
I opened my lips to deny it, but they refused to speak. I was filled
with a horror of the imagination, but I was resolved not to succumb to
it. I seized the steel chain that was attached to the collar of the
spaniel, and untied it from the sideboard.
“What are you doing?” said Vernon sharply.
“Good-night, Vernon,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm; “I am going
to take the spaniel with me.”
As I spoke I moved towards the door. The spaniel slunk along beside
me, with its belly close to the floor, trying to press itself against
my legs.
[Illustration: “I WENT OUT INTO THE NIGHT CARRYING IT IN MY ARMS.”]
“What!” said Vernon, “to happiness—to affection!”