He broke off, musing dreamily on the happy past, and at this moment history partially repeated itself.  From the other side of the door came a dissatisfied whine, followed by a short bark.

“Hullo,” said Ukridge, “Beale has a dog.”  He frowned, annoyed.  “What right,” he added in an aggrieved tone, “has a beastly mongrel, belonging to a man I employ, to keep me out of my own house?  It’s a little hard.  Here am I, slaving day and night to support Beale, and when I try to get into my own house his infernal dog barks at me.  Upon my Sam it’s hard!” He brooded for a moment on the injustice of things.  “Here, let me get to the keyhole.  I’ll reason with the brute.”

He put his mouth to the keyhole and roared “Goo’ dog!” through it.  Instantly the door shook as some heavy object hurled itself against it.  The barking rang through the house.

“Come round to the back,” said Ukridge, giving up the idea of conciliation, “we’ll get in through the kitchen window.”

The kitchen window proved to be insecurely latched.  Ukridge threw it open and we climbed in.  The dog, hearing the noise, raced back along the passage and flung himself at the door, scratching at the panels.  Ukridge listened with growing indignation.

“Millie, you know how to light a fire.  Garnet and I will be collecting cups and things.  When that scoundrel Beale arrives I shall tear him limb from limb.  Deserting us like this!  The man must be a thorough fraud.  He told me he was an old soldier.  If that’s the sort of discipline they used to keep in his regiment, thank God, we’ve got a Navy!  Damn, I’ve broken a plate.  How’s the fire getting on, Millie?  I’ll chop Beale into little bits.  What’s that you’ve got there, Garny old horse?  Tea?  Good.  Where’s the bread?  There goes another plate.  Where’s Mrs. Beale, too?  By Jove, that woman wants killing as much as her blackguard of a husband.  Whoever heard of a cook deliberately leaving her post on the day when her master and mistress were expected back?  The abandoned woman.  Look here, I’ll give that dog three minutes, and if it doesn’t stop scratching that door by then, I’ll take a rolling pin and go out and have a heart-to-heart talk with it.  It’s a little hard.  My own house, and the first thing I find when I arrive is somebody else’s beastly dog scratching holes in the doors and ruining the expensive paint.  Stop it, you brute!”

The dog’s reply was to continue his operations with immense vigour.

Ukridge’s eyes gleamed behind their glasses.

“Give me a good large jug, laddie,” he said with ominous calm.

He took the largest of the jugs from the dresser and strode with it into the scullery, whence came a sound of running water.  He returned carrying the jug with both hands, his mien that of a general who sees his way to a masterstroke of strategy.

“Garny, old horse,” he said, “freeze onto the handle of the door, and, when I give the word, fling wide the gates.  Then watch that animal get the surprise of a lifetime.”