“A Hile of Skye terrier, sir—pepper-and-salt, and rather white about the mouth, and a many teeth gone.”
“Well; but does he answer to the name of Tickler?”
“Can’t say, sir, really. Haven’t seen him myself, sir; only my friend as found him wandering about, a good way off.”
“What! haven’t you seen the advertisement in which he’s called Tickler?” Here was a moment’s embarrassing pause.
“No, sir, can’t say I have; but maybe my friend has.”
“Why, do you mean to say that you’ve never heard him called Tickler?”
“I never see’d him, sir; and never heard the name Tickler.”
“What! not in the advertisement?” At this moment a heavy single knock at the door, against which I was leaning, made me start. I opened it, and a policeman stood there. “Is the inspector come, sir?” he asked. My friend in the corner was instantly aghast, and seemed in the act of squeezing himself into the wall (to avoid being seen by the grizzly visitor), his eyes fixed on me with an expression I shall not soon forget.
“No; and you may tell him he need not come now. I am much obliged to you both; but I now don’t want to part with the dog.” The policeman bowed, descended the steps, and I shut the door. This visit had been paid us in consequence of our application to the station-house for advice how to dispose of Snap. My visitor had grown considerably whiter than so much as was visible of his shirt!
“Don’t be under any apprehension, my man,” said I, with a smile; “it is certainly one of the oddest coincidences I ever saw; but I pledge my word to you that it is purely accidental, and in no way relates to you or my own dog.”