“I saw my dog,” Mr Musgrave explained with dignity. “I was following him.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, you had better come on to the house. I expect we shall find Diogenes there. He was, before you arrived, taking a stroll with me. Seems to be pretty much at home here. Why can’t you keep him at your place?”
“He is—” Mr Musgrave coughed again, as though his throat still troubled him—“very much attached to Miss Annersley.”
“Rather sudden in his attachments, isn’t he?” Mr Chadwick suggested.
“Miss Annersley takes considerable notice of him,” Mr Musgrave replied. “I have been thinking that, subject to your permission, I would like to make her a present of the dog.”
“I am at least gratified to find that you realise I have a right to a say in the matter,” Diogenes’ lawful owner remarked with irony. “I should like to ask you a question, Musgrave. Possession being nine-tenths of the law, should you say that constituted the right to give away what doesn’t, in the strict sense of the word, belong to you?”
Mr Musgrave, experiencing further difficulty with his throat, was thereby prevented from replying to this question. His interlocutor tapped him lightly on the chest.
“There is another inquiry I would like to put while we are on the subject,” he said. “Don’t you think you might offer to pay for the collar?”
John Musgrave regained his voice and his composure at the same time.
“No,” he said; “I don’t. If there has been any ill-practice over this transaction, my conscience at least is clear.”