"'hit could 'ardly be done hat the price. In a hearlier conversation your lordship mentioned twenty-five. That, 'owever, was for the comparatively simple task of poisoning the animal. The substitootion would be more expensive, owing to the nature of the process. I was thinking of a 'undred, your lordship."
"Don't be a fool, Keggs."
"I fear Roberts could not be induced to do it for less, the process being expensive."
"A hundred! No it's dashed absurd. I won't do it."
"Very good, your lordship."
"Here, stop. Don't go. Look here, I'll give you fifty."
"I fear it could not be done, your lordship."
"Sixty guineas. Seven Here, don't go. Oh, very well then, a hundred."
"I thank you, your lordship. If your lordship will be at the bend in the road in 'alf an hour's time the animal will be there."
Lord Bertie was a little early at the tryst, but he had not been waiting long when a party of three turned the corner. One of the party was Keggs. The second he recognized as Roberts the chauffeur, a wooden-faced man who wore a permanent air of melancholy. The third, who waddled along at the end of a rope, was a dingy white bulldog.
The party came to a halt before him. Roberts touched his hat, and eyed the dog sadly. The dog sniffed at his lordship with apparent amiability. Keggs did the honours.
"The animal, your lordship."
Lord Bertie put up his glass and inspected the exhibit.
"Eh?"
"The animal I mentioned, your lordship."
"That?" said Lord Bertie. "Why, dash it all, that bally milk-coloured brute isn't like Reuben."
"Not at present, your lordship. But your lordship is forgetting the process. In two days Roberts will be able to treat that hanimal so that Reuben's own mother would be deceived."
Lord Bertie looked with interest at the artist. "No, really? Is that a fact?"
Roberts, an economist in speech, looked up, touched his hat again in a furtive manner, and fixed his eyes once more on the dog.
"Well, he seems friendly all right," said Lord Bertie, as the animal endeavoured to lick his hand.
"He 'as the most placid disposition," Keggs assured him. "A great improvement on Reuben, your lordship. Well worth the 'undred."
Hope fought with scepticism in Lord Bertie's mind during the days that followed. There were moments when the thing seemed possible, and moments when it seemed absurd. Of course, Keggs was a silly old fool, but, on the other hand, there were possibilities about Roberts. The chauffeur had struck his lordship as a capable-looking sort of man. And, after all, there were cases on record of horses being painted and substituted for others, so why not bulldogs?
It was absolutely necessary that some step be taken shortly. His jerky manner and abrupt retreats were getting on Aline's nerves. He could see that.
"Look here, Keggs," he said, on the third morning, "I can't wait much longer. If you don't bring on that dog soon, the whole thing's off."
"We 'ave already effected the change, your lordship. The delay 'as been due to the fact that Roberts wished to make an especial good job of it."
"And has he?"
"That I will leave your lordship to decide. The hanimal is now asleep on the terrace."
He led the way to where a brown heap lay in the sunshine. His lordship followed with some diffidence.
An extraordinary likeness, your lordship."
Lord Bertie put up his eyeglass.
"By Jove, I should say it was. Do you mean to tell me?"
"If your lordship will step forward and prod the animal, your lordship will be convinced by the amiability"
"Prod him yourself," said Lord Bertie.
Keggs did so. The slumberer raised his head dreamily, and rolled over again. Lord Bertie was satisfied. He came forward and took a prod. With Reuben this would have led to a scene of extreme activity. The excellent substitute merely flopped back on his side again.
"By Jove! it's wonderful," he said.
"And if your lordship 'appens to have a cheque-book handy?"
"You're in a bally hurry," said Lord Bertie, complainingly.
"It's Roberts, your lordship," sighed Keggs. "'E is a poor man, and 'e 'as a wife and children."
After lunch Aline was plaintive.
"I can't make out," she said, "what is the matter with Reuben. He doesn't seem to care for me any more. He won't come when I call. He wants to sleep all the time."
"Oh, he'll soon get used—I mean," added Lord Bertie, hastily, "he'll soon get over it.
