“Perhaps, on the whole I had better have him in?”
She opened the door, and drove away the stranger dog. Roger she
seized, hauling him in by the collar. She then carefully bolted the
door with one hand, sticking to Roger with the other.
“Have you got a chain?”
“What for, Sally?”
“To chain him up. I can’t have him loose. He’s been talking to that
mongrel of Dysart’s--I know the malicious beast--and when dogs get
talking together--now----”
“Talking! My dear Sally!”
“Oh, you know what I mean. It was William Dysart who directed Mary
here that night, or rather morning. He’s longing to get his knife into
me--or you.”
“But was there an inquiry? I didn’t read any of the papers, I was so
afraid of what I might see there… you understand?”
She looked at me narrowly. Then she tossed her head.
“Silly fellow, there was nothing to make you uneasy. There was not a
word of gossip. No one knew. There was one woman less on the streets
of Cardiff, that’s all.”
“But you said William Dysart directed her here?”
“Yes, that came out, in a roundabout way, but he didn’t know who she
was, or that she didn’t just come here and go straight back again
where she came from. If only you had taken my hint?”
“What hint?”
“About Roger.”
“You do puzzle me, Sally.… You only said you supposed he was dead.
Well, he isn’t, that’s all, and mighty glad I am of it. And he isn’t
used to being tied up, and I’m not going to put upon the old dog now.”
“I can’t help it. He doesn’t go free in my house! We must talk it
over. Meantime.…”
She left me abruptly--Sally never dawdled, not even over a murder.
Trailing Roger helplessly by the collar, she went into the wash-house
next door. I followed her grumbling a little, but still quite her
humble slave. She made his collar more secure and then tied him to the
copper. Then she reached up to a high shelf, and gave him a handsome
plateful of bones and a pat on the head that had more of monition than
of kindness in it. Roger looked up at me. He seemed to understand the
situation better than I did. “Keep in with her, don’t irritate her!”
he seemed to say. He shivered and seemed cold.
“Tell him to be a good dog and behave himself,” she said to me, “and
he shall be loosed to-morrow, if I can feel quite sure of him.… Things
are changed a bit, George, since you were here, and it is easy to see
you have not kept pace with them. We must brush you up, and bring you
up to date.…”
She was very nervous. I followed her out of the wash-house, closing
the door behind me, as she bade me, over her shoulder. In the
living-room, she turned and faced me.
She was a very beautiful woman, was Sally James. Her white teeth
showed keen, as her short upper lip was drawn up from them. It made
her look fine, but a bit cruel. She was not a very big woman, but
stately, majestic even, at times, though she was only a farmer’s widow
and daughter. Just now, as she stood there, her arms at her sides, her
broad breast, covered with pink print, was like a queen’s. She was
holding herself in readiness for my first embrace, and I longed for it
too, and yet--I distrusted her.… She was without principle, a figure
of shifting sand. She would always do exactly as she liked, and at the
moment when she liked.… And she hated my dog.