"Passing the shop the other day, I saw the dog sitting on the
door-step," ran on Brett. "He was bright purple that time. An old lady,
driving by in her chariot, caught sight of the dog and called to the
coachman to pull up. There she sat, that old lady, entranced with
amazement, staring through her eye-glass at what she took to be a
phenomenon in nature. Five minutes, full, she stared, and couldn't tear
herself away. It is true, gentlemen, I assure you."
Mr. Dick Standish was found, and brought before us. He looked rather
more disreputable than usual, his old fustian coat out at elbows,
a spotted red handkerchief twisted loosely round his neck. The dog
was with him, _and it was not ours_. A large, fine dog, as already
described, though much less handsome than Don, and out of condition, his
curly coat a yellowish white, the marks on it of real tan colour, not
painted.
Dick's account, after vehemently protesting he had nothing to do with
the poaching affair on Tuesday night, was never for a minute out of his
bed--was this: The dog belonged to one of the stable-helpers at Leet
Hall; but the man had determined to have the dog shot, not being
satisfied with him of late, for the animal had turned odd and uncertain
in his behaviour. Dick Standish heard of this. Understanding dogs
thoroughly, and believing that this dog only wanted a certain course of
treatment to put him right, Standish walked to Church Leet on Wednesday
morning last from Church Dykely, and asked the man, Brazer, to give him
the dog--he would take him and run all risks. Brazer refused at first;
but, after a bit, agreed to let Standish keep the dog for a time. If he
cured the dog, Brazer was to have him back again, paying Standish for
his keep and care; but if not satisfied with the dog, Standish might
keep him for good. Standish brought the dog away, and took him straight
to Evesham, walking the whole way and getting there about nine o'clock
in the evening. He was doctoring the dog well, and hoped to cure him.
Whether this tale was true or whether it wasn't, none of us could
contradict it. But there was an appearance of fear, of shuffling in the
man's manner, which seemed to indicate that something lay behind.
"It's every word gospel, ain't it, Rove, and no lie nowhere," cried
Standish, bending to pat the dog, while the corner of his eye was turned
to regard the aspect of the company. "You've blown me up for many things
before now, Squire Todhetley, but there's no call, sir, to accuse me
this time."
"When did you hear about this dog of Brazer's, and who told you of it?"
inquired Tod, in his haughty way.
"'Twas Bill Rimmer, sir; he telled me on Tuesday night," replied Dick.
"And I said to him what a shame it was to talk of destroying that there
fine dog, and that Brazer was a soft for thinking on't. And I said,
young Mr. Todhetley, that I'd be over at Church Leet first thing the
next morning, to see if he'd give the dog to me."
"It is not my dog, I see that," spoke the Squire, breaking the silence
that followed Dick's speech; "and it may be the stableman's at Leet
Hall; that's a thing readily ascertained. Do you know where my dog is,
Dick Standish?"
"No, I don't know, sir," replied the man in a very eager tone; "and I
never knowed at all, till fetched to this police station yesterday, that
your dog was a-missing. I'll swear I didn't."
There was nothing more to be done, but to accept the failure, and leave
the station, after privately charging the police to keep an eye on
clever Mr. Dick Standish, his haunts, and his movements.
In the afternoon we drove back home, not best pleased with the day's
work. A sense of having been _done_, in some way or other not at present
explicable, lay on most of us.
It appeared that the groom shared this feeling strongly. In passing
through the yard, I came upon him in his shirt sleeves, seated outside
the stable door on an inverted bucket. His elbows on his knees and his
face in his hands, he looked the image of despair. The picture arrested
me. Mack was rubbing down the horses; a duty Giles rarely entrusted to
anybody. He was fond of Don, and had been ready to hang himself ever
since Tuesday night.
"Why, Giles! what's the matter?"
"Matter enough, Master Johnny, when a false villyan like that Dick
Standish can take the master, and the police their-selves, and everybody
else, in!" was his answer. "I felt as cock-sure, sir, that we should
bring home Don as I am that the sky above us is shining out blue after
the last shower."
"But it was not Don, you see, Giles."
"_He_ wasn't; the dog Standish had to show," returned Giles, with a
peculiar emphasis. "Dick had got up his tale all smooth and sleek, sir."
"How do you know he had?"
"Because he told it me over again--the one he said he had been telling
at the police station, Master Johnny. I was standing outside the inn
yard while you were all in at lunch, and Standish came by as bold as
brass, Brazer's dog, Rover, leashed to his hand."
"I suppose it is Brazer's dog?"
"Oh, it's Brazer's dog, that'un be," said Giles, with a deep amount of
scorn; "I know _him_ well enough."
"Then how can it be Don? And we could not bring home another man's dog."
Giles paused. His eyes had a far-off look in them, as if seeking for
something they could not find.
"Master Johnny," he said, "I can't rightly grasp things. All the way
home I've been trying to put two and two together, I am trying at it
still, and I can't do it anyhow. Don't it seem odd to you, sir, that
Standish should have got Brazer's dog, Rover, into his hands just at
the very time we are suspecting he has got Don into 'em?"