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“Very sorry, sir; I wouldn’t have had it happen for anything. I was walking in Regent’s Park, with the dog at my heels, and all of a sudden he made a bolt for it. I whistled and called, but he went straight on. And when I started running after him, he made a dash into a big shrubbery. That was how he foxed me, sir. While I was hunting him on one side, he must have bolted out on the other. Never known the dog act like that before. It was just as if something had come over him. Speaking in a general way–“

“Well, what did you do?” asked Richard sharply.

“I spoke to the park-keepers, and to a couple of policemen outside, and then I went on to Scotland Yard. The address is on the collar, sir. I should think there’s no doubt you’ll–“

“That’ll do!” snapped Richard. “I thought you could be trusted to take a dog out, at any rate. Well, my mistake.”

With a further expression of contrition, the man withdrew, and almost instantly the telephone-bell on Richard’s desk rang sharply.

He went slowly to the telephone, and managed to put the concentration of weariness and disgust into the word “Hallo!”

The voice that answered him was the voice of Mr Murray.

“That you, Staines? … Right–yes, quite well, thanks…. I wanted to say when Jane got back this evening she found Zero waiting for her outside our front door…. He’s here now, and seems quite cheerful about it…. Thought you might like to know.”

Richard rapidly changed his tone of dejection for that of social enthusiasm. He thanked profusely. He would send for the dog at once.

“Well, look here,” said Mr Murray, “Jane and I have got a night off–dining alone. If by any chance you’re free, I wish you’d join us. Then you can take the intelligent hound back with you.”

Richard said that he was free, which was a lie; and that he would be delighted to come, which was perfectly true.

He subsequently rang up a man at his club, cancelled an engagement on the score of ill-health, and went to dress. Such was his elation that he even condescended to tell his servant that the dog had been found and was all right.

Zero had done wrong. He must have known that he had done wrong; but he welcomed his master with gambols in the manner of an ecstatic bullock, and showed no sign of penitence at all. It was the habit of Richard to punish a dog that had done wrong, but he did not punish Zero. He called him a silly old idiot, and asked him what he thought he had been doing, but Zero recognised that this was badinage and exercised his tail furiously.

At dinner, Mr Murray said that Zero was an interesting problem. The dog was apparently a fine judge at sight of the stability of structures, but could not find his way home.

“That’s not proved,” said Richard, laughing. “He knew his way home all right, but he was trying to better himself. He’s not fed at tea-time in St James’s Place.”

“He’s had nothing here,” said Jane.

“Really, Jane,” said her father.

“Practically nothing. A few biscuits and the least little bit of wedding-cake for luck.”

“Pity I didn’t take him to the reception; then he could have had a vanilla ice as well.”

“Wrong,” said Jane. “They hadn’t got vanilla–only the esoteric sorts. I know, because I tried. Never you mind, Zero. When the election comes on, you shall wear papa’s colours round your strengthy neck and kill all the collies of the opposition.”

“By the way,” said Richard, “how’s old Benham?”

“Poor old chap, he’s still dying,” said Mr Murray. “It makes me feel a bit like a vulture, waiting for his death like this. Still, I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Benham was the sitting member for Sidlington, and Mr Murray had been predestined to succeed him. Murray had fought two forlorn hopes for his party, and had pulled down majorities. He had fairly earned Sidlington–an absolutely safe seat. He had moderate means and no occupation. He had taken up with politics ten years before–shortly after the death of his wife–and had found politics a game that precisely suited him.