CHAPTER I
James Smith was a trainer and exhibitor of performing dogs. His age was forty-five, but on the stage he looked less, moving always with an alertness suggestive of youth. His face was dominant, but not cruel. He never petted a dog. On the other hand, he never thrashed a dog, unless he considered that the dog had deserved it. He had small eyes and a strong jaw. He was somewhat undersized, and his body was lean and hard. This afternoon, clad in a well-cut flannel suit, and wearing a straw hat, he sat on the steps of a bathing-machine on the beach at Helmstone. He was waiting for the man inside the machine to come out. Meanwhile he made himself a cigarette, rolling it on his leg with one hand, and securing the paper by a small miracle instead of by gum.
As he lit the cigarette the door of the bathing-machine opened, and a tall young man of athletic build came out. He was no better dressed than James Smith. At the same time, it was just as obvious that he was a gentleman as that Smith was not.
"Hallo!" said the young man. "You're all right again, I see. What was it—touch of cramp?"
"No, sir," said Smith. "I'm not a strong swimmer, and I've done no sea bathing before. I never meant to get out of my depth, but the current took me. What I want now is to do something to show my gratitude."
"Gratitude be blowed!" said the young man cheerfully. "It was no trouble to me, and I happened to be there."
"Well, sir," said Smith, "will you let me give you a dog? I've got some very good dogs. I should take it as a favour if you would."
He took from a Russia leather case a clean professional card, and presented it to the young man.
"That, of course, is not my real name. That's just the French name they've put on the programmes. I'm James Smith, and I have a two weeks' engagement at the Hippodrome here. I've got my dogs in a stable not far from there."
The young man glanced at his watch.
"Well," he said, "I've got nothing to do this morning, I'll go and have a look at the dogs, at any rate. They're a pretty clever lot, I suppose."
"They can do what they've been taught," said Smith; "all except one of them, and he can do what no man can teach him."
There was a great noise when they entered the stables. Twenty dogs, most of them black poodles, all tried to talk at once. Smith said something decisively, but quietly, and the dogs became silent again. Smith made a sign to one of the poodles and held out his walking-stick. It looked quite impossible, but the dog went over it.
"My word, but that's a wonderful jump!" said the young man.
"It is," said Smith. "You won't find another dog of that breed in this country that can do the same. He's yours, if you like to take him."
"No; hang it all! I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to take a dog which you can use professionally. What about the beggar that you said you could not teach?"
Smith pointed to a huge brindled bulldog, who lay in one corner of the stable absolutely motionless, watching them intently.
"That's the one," lie said. "He's never been on the stage at all. He couldn't even be taught to fetch and carry."
"And you just keep him because you're fond of him?"
"Fond of him? No, I'm not fond of dogs. They're my livelihood, and I don't do so badly out of it. But I'm not fond of 'em—know too much about 'em."
"Then what do you keep him for?"
"You may call it a sense of justice, or you may call it curiosity. He's a rum 'un, that dog is, and no mistake."
"In what way rum?"
"I'll tell you. He's a dog that sees dangers ahead. He knows when things are going to happen. I had him as a puppy, and when I found I could teach him nothing, I made up my mind to get quit of him. I was going off by train that day to a village fifteen miles away, and I knew a man there who I thought might take a fancy to Zero."
"Zero, you call him?"
"Yes; that was a bit of my fun. As a performing dog he was just absolutely last—number naught, see? Well, as I was saying, there was I on the platform with the dog at my heel and the ticket in my hand. Just as I was going to get into the train, he made a jump for that ticket, caught it in his mouth and bolted with it, nipping in among a lot of milk-cans. I called him, and he wouldn't come out. Then I went in after him, and he bolted again. By the time I did get him I had missed my train, and I didn't give him half a jolly good hiding for it, I don't think! If I'd gone by that train I shouldn't have been talking to you now. Collision three miles from the station. Well, you don't apologise to a dog. All I could do was to keep him. But that wasn't the only instance. The beggar knows things."
"Apparently he didn't know that you were going to drown yourself this morning."
"If he knew anything about it, he knew that I wasn't."
"Good-tempered dog?"
"Oh, all bulldogs are safe! You want to look after him with collies. He doesn't like 'em. If he gets hold of one, it's bad for the collie. Otherwise a baby could handle him."
Zero had crossed over to them, and the young man stooped down and patted him. The dog expressed delight.
"I can send him round to your hotel," said Smith; "or, for that matter, he'd follow you. He's taken a fancy to you, he has."
"Look here," said the young man, "let me buy him. I'm not a millionaire, but I can afford to buy a dog. I'd like to have this one, and there's no reason on earth why you should give him to me."
"You'd like to have him, and I can afford to give him to you, and I want to give him to you. You must let a man indulge his sense of gratitude. It's only fair."
"Very well, if you say so. Many thanks. I'll step over to the Hippodrome and see your show to-night."
"Do. You'll be surprised."
The two men talked for a few moments longer, and then Zero's new owner said that he must be getting back to lunch.
"You really think the dog will follow me?" he said. "I don't want to take a lead?"
"I know he'll follow you. I tell you I know dogs. They take fancies sometimes. You can take that dog out, and if I call him back myself he wouldn't come."
"I bet you a sovereign he would."
"I'll take that," said Smith. "You go on with him, and I'll wait here."
The young man walked a few yards away with the dog at his heels, and then Smith called the dog back, loudly and insistently. The dog did not give the slightest sign that he had heard anything at all. When his master stood still, he remained standing patiently at his heel, and never once looked back.
The young man laughed as he took out his sovereign-case.
"Queer chap, Zero. Well, you've won, Mr Smith. Catch!"
Mr Smith caught the sovereign adroitly, and went back into the stable.
"Yes," he said to the cleverest of the black poodles, "I don't know that I wouldn't sooner he'd taken you."
It was seldom that Smith addressed any of his dogs, except to give an order. The poodle did not know what to make of it. He whined faintly.
Richard Staines went back to his hotel, with Zero at his heels. He had his own sitting-room opening into his bedroom at the hotel, and he intended to keep the dog there at night. This was against the laws of the hotel; therefore Staines had to pause a few moments in the hall to get the laws altered. One of the arguments he used was that he would only be there two days longer, and it would not matter for so short a time. The other argument was bribery and corruption. After which he and Zero went up in the lift together.