‘What’s the dog like?’ I asked.

’Ah, that is comforting of you!  Most men walk through ’em to show me they aren’t real.  As if I didn’t know!  But you’re different.  Anybody could see that with half an eye.’  He stiffened and pointed.  ’Damn it all!  The dog sees it too with half an—­Why, he knows you!  Knows you perfectly.  D’you know him?’

‘How can I tell if he isn’t real?’ I insisted.

’But you can! You’re all right.  I saw that from the first.  Don’t go back on me now or I shall go to pieces like the Drummond Castle.  I beg your pardon, old man; but, you see, you do know the dog.  I’ll prove it.  What’s that dog doing?  Come on! You know.’  A tremor shook him, and he put his hand on my knee, and whispered with great meaning:  ’I’ll letter or halve it with you.  There!  You begin.’

‘S,’ said I to humour him, for a dog would most likely be standing or sitting, or may be scratching or sniffling or staring.

‘Q,’ he went on, and I could feel the heat of his shaking hand.

‘U,’ said I. There was no other letter possible; but I was shaking too.

‘I.’

‘N.’

‘T-i-n-g,’ he ran out.  ’There!  That proves it.  I knew you knew him.  You don’t know what a relief that is.  Between ourselves, old man, he—­he’s been turning up lately a—­a damn sight more often than I cared for.  And a squinting dog—­a dog that squints!  I mean that’s a bit too much.  Eh?  What?’ He gulped and half rose, and I thought that the full tide of delirium would be on him in another sentence.

‘Not a bit of it,’ I said as a last chance, with my hand over the bellpush.  ’Why, you’ve just proved that I know him; so there are two of us in the game, anyhow.’

’By Jove! that is an idea!  Of course there are.  I knew you’d see me through.  We’ll defeat them yet.  Hi, pup!...  He’s gone.  Absolutely disappeared!’ He sighed with relief, and I caught the lucky moment.

‘Good business!  I expect he only came to have a look at me,’ I said.  ‘Now, get this drink down and turn in to the lower bunk.’

He obeyed, protesting that he could not inconvenience me, and in the midst of apologies sank into a dead sleep.  I expected a wakeful night, having a certain amount to think over; but no sooner had I scrambled into the top bunk than sleep came on me like a wave from the other side of the world.

In the morning there were apologies, which we got over at breakfast before our party were about.

’I suppose—­after this—­well, I don’t blame you.  I’m rather a lonely chap, though.’  His eyes lifted dog-like across the table.

‘Shend,’ I replied, ’I’m not running a Sunday school.  You’re coming home with me in my car as soon as we land.’

‘That is kind of you—­kinder than you think.’

’That’s because you’re a little jumpy still.  Now, I don’t want to mix up in your private affairs—­’