We had just come in, and I was disrobing in the hall—Berry was speaking to the chauffeur—when an exclamation from Jill, who was on the point of following Daphne and Jonah into the library, made me look round.
On the top step of the first flight of stairs stood a little white dog, regarding us squarely. He might have been painted by Maud Earl. His ears were pricked, his little forefeet placed close together, his tail was upright. A gas officer would have said that he was "in the alert position."
"Hello, Nobby," said I. "How goes it?"
At the sound of his name the terrier put his small head on one side with an air of curiosity as evident as it was attractive.
"What a darling!" cried Jill.
As she spoke I heard a latch-key inserted, and the next moment Berry pushed open the door.
Breathing out threatenings, the darling streaked down the stairs and across the hall to the new-comer's feet, where he stood with his back arched, one fore-paw raised, and bared teeth, emitting a long low snarl, while there was a look in the bright brown eyes which there was no mistaking.
My brother-in-law stood as if rooted to the spot.
Jill began to shake with laughter.
"What did I say?" said Berry, remaining motionless. "Can't enter my own house now. It's all right, old chap," he added, gazing at Nobby with a winning smile. "I belong here."