He was evidently rather surprised, but the satisfaction in his face was unmistakable.
"I'll do my best," he said. "No one can't do more than that." He glanced down at Satan, who was sitting patiently by his side. "'Ow about the dog?" he demanded suspiciously. "You won't be wantin' to get rid of 'im?"
"Not likely," I said, with some feeling. "He's one of the chief attractions of the place from my point of view."
At this moment, as luck would have it, Satan rose leisurely to his feet, and, strolling across, thrust his wet muzzle into the palm of my hand. The timely demonstration evidently had a considerable effect upon Bascomb, for he looked up at me with a sudden respect that had hitherto been absent from his manner.
"'E's taken to you proper, sir," he observed; "an' wot's more, 'e's worth 'avin' as a friend, that dog is. If 'e was around, and any bloke was to try a dirty trick on you, 'e'd tear the throat out of 'im before 'e knew wot 'ad 'appened."
"I'm very pleased to hear it," I said heartily, and, having bestowed several more encouraging pats on my new and useful ally, I followed Ross into the house.
I found him in the dining-room in the act of helping himself to another whisky and soda.
"It's time we were making a start," I said, copying his example. "There are no lights on the car, and it will take us at least three hours to get back to town."
"I'm ready," he replied. "I didn't like to leave all this drink behind, though. It's putting temptation in Bascomb's way."
"You needn't have worried yourself," I explained. "There's a whole cellar full of it downstairs, and of course he's got the key."