But I couldn’t.  I could have told him at my own time, in a prepared form of words—­but not then.  I felt I must use all my wits to gain time, and fence with the questions.

“Why,” I said, with a leaden airiness, “he hasn’t given you the slip, has he?”

“Never did such a thing in his life!” said the colonel, warmly; “he rushed off after a rat or a frog or something a few minutes ago, and as I stopped to light another cheroot I lost sight of him.  I thought I saw him slip in under your gate, but I’ve been calling him from the front there and he won’t come out.”

No, and he never would come out any more.  But the colonel must not be told that just yet.  I temporised again:  “If,” I said, unsteadily—­“if he had slipped in under the gate I should have seen him.  Perhaps he took it into his head to run home?”

“Oh, I shall find him on the door-step, I expect, the knowing old scamp!  Why, what d’ ye think was the last thing he did, now?”

I could have given him the very latest intelligence, but I dared not.  However, it was altogether too ghastly to kneel there and laugh at anecdotes of Bingo told across Bingo’s dead body; I could not stand that.  “Listen,” I said, suddenly, “wasn’t that his bark?  There, again; it seems to come from the front of your house, don’t you think?”

“Well,” said the colonel, “I’ll go and fasten him up before he’s off again.  How your teeth are chattering!  You’ve caught a chill, man; go indoors at once, and, if you feel equal to it, look in half an hour later, about grog-time, and I’ll tell you all about it.  Compliments to your mother.  Don’t forget—­about grog-time!”

I had got rid of him at last, and I wiped my forehead, gasping with relief.  I would go round in half an hour, and then I should be prepared to make my melancholy announcement.  For, even then, I never thought of any other course, until suddenly it flashed upon me with terrible clearness that my miserable shuffling by the hedge had made it impossible to tell the truth!  I had not told a direct lie, to be sure, but then I had given the colonel the impression that I had denied having seen the dog.  Many people can appease their consciences by reflecting that, whatever may be the effect their words produce, they did contrive to steer clear of a downright lie.  I never quite knew where the distinction lay morally, but there is that feeling—­I have it myself.

Unfortunately, prevarication has this drawback:  that, if ever the truth comes to light, the prevaricator is in just the same case as if he had lied to the most shameless extent, and for a man to point out that the words he used contained no absolute falsehood will seldom restore confidence.

I might, of course, still tell the colonel of my misfortune, and leave him to infer that it had happened after our interview; but the poodle was fast becoming cold and stiff, and they would most probably suspect the real time of the occurrence.