Black Poodle and Other Tales — 03 - The Black Poodle, part 3

'If you really won't take any more wine,' I said hurriedly, addressing the Colonel and Travers, 'suppose we all go out and have our coffee on the lawn?

It--it will be cooler there.'

For it was getting very hot indoors, I thought.

I left Travers to amuse the ladies--he could do no more harm now; and taking the Colonel aside, I seized the opportunity, as we strolled up and down the garden path, to ask his consent to Lilian's engagement to me.

He gave it cordially.

'There's not a man in England,' he said, 'that I'd sooner see her married to after to-day.

You're a quiet steady young fellow, and you've a good kind heart.

As for the money, that's neither here nor there; Lilian won't come to you without a penny, you know.

But really, my boy, you can hardly believe what it is to my poor wife and me to see that dog.

Why, bless my soul, look at him now!

What's the matter with him, eh?'

To my unutterable horror I saw that that miserable poodle, after begging unnoticed at the tea-table for some time, had retired to an open space before it, where he was now industriously standing on his head.

We gathered round and examined the animal curiously, as he continued to balance himself gravely in his abnormal position.

'Good gracious, John,' cried Mrs. Currie, 'I never saw Bingo do such a thing before in his life!'

'Very odd,' said the Colonel, putting up his glasses; 'never learnt that from _me_.'

'I tell you what I fancy it is,' I suggested wildly.

'You see, he was always a sensitive, excitable animal, and perhaps the--the sudden joy of his return has gone to his head--_upset_ him, you know.'

They seemed disposed to accept this solution, and indeed I believe they would have credited Bingo with every conceivable degree of sensibility;

but I felt myself that if this unhappy animal had many more of these accomplishments I was undone, for the original Bingo had never been a dog of parts.

'It's very odd,' said Travers, reflectively, as the dog recovered his proper level, 'but I always thought that it was half the _right_ ear that Bingo had lost?'

'So it is, isn't it?'

said the Colonel.

'Left, eh?

Well, I thought myself it was the right.'

My heart almost stopped with terror--I had altogether forgotten that.

I

hastened to set the point at rest.

'Oh, it _was_ the left,' I said positively; 'I know it because I remember so particularly thinking how odd it was that it _should_ be the left ear, and not the right!'

I told myself this should be positively my last lie.

'_Why_ odd?'

asked Frank Travers, with his most offensive Socratic manner.

'My dear fellow, I can't tell you,' I said impatiently; 'everything seems odd when you come to think at all about it.'

'Algernon,' said Lilian later on, 'will you tell Aunt Mary and Mr. Travers, and--and me, how it was you came to find Bingo?

Mr. Travers is quite anxious to hear all about it.'

I could not very well refuse; I sat down and told the story, all my own way.

I painted Blagg, perhaps, rather bigger and blacker than life, and described an exciting scene, in which I recognised Bingo by his collar in the streets, and claimed and bore him off then and there in spite of all opposition.

I had the inexpressible pleasure of seeing Travers grinding his teeth with envy as I went on, and feeling Lilian's soft, slender hand glide silently into mine as I told my tale in the twilight.

All at once, just as I reached the climax, we heard the poodle barking furiously at the hedge which separated my garden from the road.

'There's a foreign-looking man staring over the hedge,' said Lilian; 'Bingo always _did_ hate foreigners.'

There certainly was a swarthy man there, and, though I had no reason for it then, somehow my heart died within me at the sight of him.

'Don't be alarmed, sir,' cried the Colonel, 'the dog won't bite you--unless there's a hole in the hedge anywhere.'

The stranger took off his small straw hat with a sweep.

'Ah, I am not afraid,' he said, and his accent proclaimed him a Frenchman, 'he is not enrage at me.

May I ask, is it pairmeet to speak wiz Misterre Vezzered?'

I felt I must deal with this person alone, for I feared the worst; and, asking them to excuse me, I went to the hedge and faced the Frenchman with the frightful calm of despair.

He was a short, stout little man, with blue cheeks, sparkling black eyes, and a vivacious walnut-coloured countenance; he wore a short black alpaca coat, and a large white cravat with an immense oval malachite brooch in the centre of it, which I mention because I found myself staring mechanically at it during the interview.

'My name is Weatherhead,' I began, with the bearing of a detected pickpocket.

'Can I be of any service to you?'

'Of a great service,' he said emphatically; 'you can restore to me ze poodle vich I see zere!'

Nemesis had called at last in the shape of a rival claimant.

I staggered for an instant; then I said, 'Oh, I think you are under a mistake--that dog is not mine.'

'I know it,' he said; 'zere 'as been leetle mistake, so if ze dog is not to you, you give him back to me, _hein_?'

'I tell you,' I said, 'that poodle belongs to the gentleman over there.'

And I pointed to the Colonel, seeing that it was best now to bring him into the affair without delay.

'You are wrong,' he said doggedly; 'ze poodle is my poodle!

And I was direct to you--it is your name on ze carte!'

And he presented me with that fatal card which I had been foolish enough to give to Blagg as a proof of my identity.

I saw it all now; the old villain had betrayed me, and to earn a double reward had put the real owner on my track.

I decided to call the Colonel at once, and attempt to brazen it out with the help of his sincere belief in the dog.

'Eh, what's that; what's it all about?'

said the Colonel, bustling up, followed at intervals by the others.

The Frenchman raised his hat again.

'I do not vant to make a trouble,' he began, 'but zere is leetle mistake.

My word of honour, sare, I see my own poodle in your garden.

Ven I appeal to zis gentilman to restore 'im he reffer me to you.'

'You must allow me to know my own dog, sir,' said the Colonel.

'Why, I've had him from a pup.

Bingo, old boy, you know your master, don't you?'

But the brute ignored him altogether, and began to leap wildly at the hedge, in frantic efforts to join the Frenchman.

It needed no Solomon to decide _his_ ownership!

'I tell you, you 'ave got ze wrong poodle--it is my own dog, my Azor!

He remember me well, you see?

I lose him it is three, four days....

I see a nottice zat he is found, and ven I go to ze address zey tell me, "Oh, he is reclaim, he is gone wiz a strangaire who has advertise."

Zey show me ze placard, I follow 'ere, and ven I arrive, I see my poodle in ze garden before me!'

'But look here,' said the Colonel, impatiently; 'it's all very well to say that, but how can you prove it?

I give you _my_ word that the dog belongs to _me_!

You must prove your claim, eh, Travers?'

'Yes,' said Travers, judicially, 'mere assertion is no proof: it's oath against oath, at present.'

'Attend an instant--your poodle was he 'ighly train, had he some talents--a dog viz tricks, eh?'

'No, he's not,' said the Colonel; 'I don't like to see dogs taught to play the fool--there's none of that nonsense about _him_, sir!'

'Ah, remark him well, then.

Azor, mon chou, danse donc un peu!'

And on the foreigner's whistling a lively air, that infernal poodle rose on his hind legs and danced solemnly about half-way round the garden!

We inside followed his movements with dismay.

'Why, dash it all!'

cried the disgusted Colonel, 'he's dancing along like a d----d mountebank!

But it's my Bingo for all that!'

'You are not convince?

You shall see more.

Azor, ici!

Pour Beesmarck, Azor!'

(the poodle barked ferociously).

'Pour Gambetta!'

(he wagged his tail and began to leap with joy).

'Meurs pour la Patrie!'

--and the too-accomplished animal rolled over as if killed in battle!

'Where could Bingo have picked up so much French!'

cried Lilian, incredulously.

'Or so much French history?'

added that serpent Travers.

'Shall I command 'im to jomp, or reverse 'imself?'

inquired the obliging Frenchman.

'We've seen that, thank you,' said the Colonel, gloomily.

'Upon my word, I don't know what to think.

It can't be that that's not my Bingo after all--I'll never believe it!'

I tried a last desperate stroke.

'Will you come round to the front?'

I

said to the Frenchman; 'I'll let you in, and we can discuss the matter quietly.'

Then, as we walked back together, I asked him eagerly what he would take to abandon his claims and let the Colonel think the poodle was his after all.

He was furious--he considered himself insulted; with great emotion he informed me that the dog was the pride of his life (it seems to be the mission of black poodles to serve as domestic comforts of this priceless kind!

), that he would not part with him for twice his weight in gold.

'Figure,' he began, as we joined the others, 'zat zis gentilman 'ere 'as offer me money for ze dog!

He agrees zat it is to me, you see?

Ver well zen, zere is no more to be said!'

'Why, Weatherhead, have _you_ lost faith too, then?'

said the Colonel.

I saw that it was no good--all I wanted now was to get out of it creditably and get rid of the Frenchman.

'I'm sorry to say,' I replied, 'that I'm afraid I've been deceived by the extraordinary likeness.

I

don't think, on reflection, that that _is_ Bingo!'

'What do you think, Travers?'

asked the Colonel.

'Well, since you ask me,' said Travers, with quite unnecessary dryness, 'I never did think so.'

'Nor I,' said the Colonel; 'I thought from the first that was never my Bingo.

Why, Bingo would make two of that beast!'

And Lilian and her aunt both protested that they had had their doubts from the first.

'Zen you pairmeet zat I remove 'im?'

said the Frenchman.

'Certainly' said the Colonel; and after some apologies on our part for the mistake, he went off in triumph, with the detestable poodle frisking after him.

When he had gone the Colonel laid his hand kindly on my shoulder.

'Don't look so cut up about it, my boy,' he said; 'you did your best--there was a sort of likeness, to any one who didn't know Bingo as we did.'

Just then the Frenchman again appeared at the hedge.

'A thousand pardons,' he said, 'but I find zis upon my dog--it is not to me.

Suffer me to restore it viz many compliments.'

It was Bingo's collar.

Travers took it from his hand and brought it to us.

'This was on the dog when you stopped that fellow, didn't you say?'

he asked me.

One more lie--and _I_ was so-weary of falsehood!

'Y-yes,' I said reluctantly, that was so.'

'Very extraordinary,' said Travers; 'that's the wrong poodle beyond a doubt, but when he's found, he's wearing the right dog's collar!

Now how do you account for that?'

'My good fellow,' I said impatiently, 'I'm not in the witness-box.

I

_can't_ account for it.

It--it's a mere coincidence!'

'But look here, my _dear_ Weatherhead,' argued Travers (whether in good faith or not I never could quite make out), 'don't you see what a tremendously important link it is?

Here's a dog who (as I understand the facts) had a silver collar, with his name engraved on it, round his neck at the time he was lost.

Here's that identical collar turning up soon afterwards round the neck of a totally different dog!

We must follow this up; we must get at the bottom of it somehow!

With a clue like this, we're sure to find out, either the dog himself, or what's become of him!

Just try to recollect exactly what happened, there's a good fellow.

This is just the sort of thing I like!'

It was the sort of thing I did not enjoy at all.

'You must excuse me to-night, Travers,' I said uncomfortably; 'you see, just now it's rather a sore subject for me--and I'm not feeling very well!'

I was grateful just then for a reassuring glance of pity and confidence from Lilian's sweet eyes which revived my drooping spirits for the moment.

'Yes, we'll go into it to-morrow, Travers,' said the Colonel; 'and then--hullo, why, there's that confounded Frenchman _again_!'

It was indeed; he came prancing back delicately, with a malicious enjoyment on his wrinkled face.

'Once more I return to apologise,' he said.

'My poodle 'as permit 'imself ze grave indiscretion to make a very big 'ole at ze bottom of ze garden!'

I assured him that it was of no consequence.

'Perhaps,' he replied, looking steadily at me through his keen half-shut eyes, 'you vill not say zat ven you regard ze 'ole.

And you others, I spik to you: somtimes von loses a somzing vich is qvite near all ze time.

It is ver droll, eh?

my vord, ha, ha, ha!'

And he ambled off, with an aggressively fiendish laugh that chilled my blood.

'What the dooce did he mean by that, eh?'

said the Colonel, blankly.

'Don't know,' said Travers; 'suppose we go and inspect the hole?'

But before that I had contrived to draw near it myself, in deadly fear lest the Frenchman's last words had contained some innuendo which I had not understood.

It was light enough still for me to see something, at the unexpected horror of which I very nearly fainted.

That thrice accursed poodle which I had been insane enough to attempt to foist upon the Colonel must, it seems, have buried his supper the night before very near the spot in which I had laid Bingo, and in his attempts to exhume his bone had brought the remains of my victim to the surface!

There the corpse lay, on the very top of the excavations.

Time had not, of course, improved its appearance, which was ghastly in the extreme, but still plainly recognisable by the eye of affection.

'It's a very ordinary hole,' I gasped, putting myself before it and trying to turn them back.

'Nothing in it--nothing at all!'

'Except one Algernon Weatherhead, Esq.

, eh?'

whispered Travers jocosely in my ear.

'No, but,' persisted the Colonel, advancing, 'look here!

Has the dog damaged any of your shrubs?'

'No, no!'

I cried piteously, 'quite the reverse.

Let's all go indoors now; it's getting so cold!'

'See, there _is_ a shrub or something uprooted!'

said the Colonel, still coming nearer that fatal hole.

'Why, hullo, look there!

What's that?'

Lilian, who was by his side, gave a slight scream.

'Uncle,' she cried, 'it looks like--like _Bingo_!'

The Colonel turned suddenly upon me.

'Do you hear?'

he demanded, in a choked voice.

'You hear what she says?

Can't you speak out?

Is that our Bingo?'

I gave it up at last; I only longed to be allowed to crawl away under something!

'Yes,' I said in a dull whisper, as I sat down heavily on a garden seat, 'yes ...

that's Bingo ...

misfortune ...

shoot him ...

quite an accident!'

There was a terrible explosion after that; they saw at last how I had deceived them, and put the very worst construction upon everything.

Even now I writhe impotently at times, and my cheeks smart and tingle with humiliation, as I recall that scene--the Colonel's very plain speaking, Lilian's passionate reproaches and contempt, and her aunt's speechless prostration of disappointment.

I made no attempt to defend myself; I was not perhaps the complete villain they deemed me, but I felt dully that no doubt it all served me perfectly right.

Still I do not think I am under any obligation to put their remarks down in black and white here.

Travers had vanished at the first opportunity--whether out of delicacy, or the fear of breaking out into unseasonable mirth, I cannot say; and shortly afterwards the others came to where I sat silent with bowed head, and bade me a stern and final farewell.

And then, as the last gleam of Lilian's white dress vanished down the garden path, I laid my head down on the table amongst the coffee-cups and cried like a beaten child.

* * * * * I got leave as soon as I could and went abroad.

The morning after my return I noticed, while shaving, that there was a small square marble tablet placed against the wall of the Colonel's garden.

I got my opera-glass and read--and pleasant reading it was--the following inscription:-- IN AFFECTIONATE MEMORY

OF

B I N G O,

SECRETLY AND CRUELLY PUT TO DEATH,

IN COLD BLOOD;

BY A

NEIGHBOUR AND FRIEND.

JUNE, 1881

If this explanation of mine ever reaches my neighbours' eyes, I humbly hope they will have the humanity either to take away or tone down that tablet.

They cannot conceive what I suffer, when curious visitors insist, as they do every day, in spelling out the words from our windows, and asking me countless questions about them!

Sometimes I meet the Curries about the village, and, as they pass me with averted heads, I feel myself growing crimson.

Travers is almost always with Lilian now.

He has given her a dog--a fox-terrier--and they take ostentatiously elaborate precautions to keep it out of my garden.

I should like to assure them here that they need not be under any alarm.

I have shot one dog.

_THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE.

_ A TALE FOR CHILDREN.