"And I would give twenty pounds sooner than keep the ugly wretch," said Harry.

"Perhaps so; but then you see you can't appreciate breed. Don't be cross, old chap," he continued, laughing. "You must be bear-leader, and lick me into shape."

Harry shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.

"There! turn up the gas a little higher, Harry; and do, for goodness'

sake, give up that confounded French shrug; and, I say, Hal, if this cad does come, leave me to manage him. His won't be a cla.s.sic tongue, old fellow, and I know how to deal with these fellows so much better than you. By Jove, though, here he is! Come in!"

For there had been another knock at the door, and the maid once more appeared.

"Plee, sir, there's a man down-stairs, as says he have an appointment with you, sir. Is he to come up?"

"Yes; send him up, Mary; that is, if he's fit."

"Fit, sir?" said the girl, looking puzzled.

"Yes; clean--decent," said Lionel, laughing, and the girl withdrew.

A minute later, a heavy, halting step was heard upon the stairs, and the visitor, none other than Canau's landlord from Decadia, was ushered into the room.

Volume 1, Chapter XXIV.

"D. WRAGG, NAT'RALIST."

"Sarvant, gentlemen," said the new-comer, who must now be fully introduced. He made four steps forward into the room, each step being accomplished by the planting of a heavy boot with a club-sole, some six inches thick, a couple of feet forward, when, with a bow and a jerk, the other leg was brought to the front, and the man stood upright, took another step, bowed, and again jerked himself into the perpendicular-- each effort of locomotion being accompanied by an automaton flourish of one arm, similar to that of a farming man sowing turnips broadcast.

He was a wiry-looking little fellow, with sharp ferrety eyes, and short bristly hair standing up at the sides of his head, giving him the look of a fierce Scotch terrier--the resemblance being heightened by an occasional twitch of the facial muscles, which might have been taken for displays of annoyance at the workings of troublous insects beyond the reach of teeth or paws.

"Sarvant, gentlemen," he said; "and if so be as it ain't a liberty--"

He paused in his utterance, jerked himself back to the door, opened it, peered out as if seeking a rat--if not smelling one--closed the door again, jerked himself back, and laid one finger beside his very small nose, saying--

"I'll make all snug afore I begin."

This was evidently in completion of his sentence; and then, while in a half-amused, half-contemptuous manner, Lionel Redgrave watched his actions, the man leaned his body first on one side, then on the other, as if, with ultra caution, he were endeavouring to peer behind the two occupants of the room; peeping beneath the table; and finishing the performance by tip-toeing, and straining his neck to look here and there in the most mysterious way imaginable.

"Confound you! why don't you look up the chimney while you are about it?" cried Lionel, at last. "What the deuce does the fellow mean?"

"It's all right, gentlemen," said the man, taking a handkerchief out of his hat, wiping his face, and then placing the very tall head-covering upon the floor, while out of a shabby old dress-coat pocket he dragged a copy of a newspaper.

"Which of you gents is L.R.?" he continued, when, after much jerking and fumbling, he had contrived to open and refold the paper to his taste, and with one extremely dirty finger to fix, as it were, the advertis.e.m.e.nt.

"Never you mind about that," said Lionel, gruffly. "Have you brought the dog?"

"Brought the dorg, gentlemen? Now, is it likely?" was the answer, in tones of remonstrance. "Not likely! How could I bring the dorg when I hadn't got it? It was only through seeing that ad. in the paper, that I says, says I, 'Why that there's just like the dorg as I see Mr Barkles with'--a dorg as he said follered him 'ome lars night's a week."

Lionel growled, and the visitor jerked himself a step forward.

"So I says to our Janet, I says, 'Jest drop a line,' I says, 'to that pore gent as has lost his dorg,' I says; 'and I'll see if I can't be the 'appy mejum of gettin' on it back for him.'"

"Look here, my man," said Harry, regardless of his pupil's frowns; "bring the dog back, and my friend will pay the offered reward."

"Bring the dorg back here, sir! Well no, that ain't likely. How do I know what might happen? Don't you make no mistake about me, sir. I'm a respectable tradesman, and that's my card, 'D. Wragg, Nat'ralist, Dealer in Br'ish and Furren Birds, and setrer, 12 Brownjohn Street, Decadia.'"

As he spoke he held out a dirty, glazed, worn-edged card to the last speaker, who motioned to him to place it upon the table, which was done with a great deal of jerking and twitching, Mr D. Wragg pushing the piece of pasteboard well into view, and then, apparently not satisfied, standing it up on edge against a book before continuing--

"I'm good for what you like, gents, from a dorg down to a pegging finch.

Do you want a 'arf dozen o' rats to try a terrier? send to me. Is it a good blackish ferret? I'm ready for you. It were only last week I had a badger. I've squirrels as'll crack nuts, fit to give to any lady in the land. Do you want a few score o' blue rocks for 'Ornsey or Battersea? I've got 'em;--'arf a 'undred o' sparrers--a hedge 'og--a toy tarrier--or a poll-parrot as wouldn't say swear to save its life, and I'm your man. That's my card, 'D. Wragg, Nat'ralist, Dealer in Br'ish and Furren Birds, and setrer, 12 Brownjohn Street, Decadia.' And what's more, make it a tenner, and I'll undertake to say as I'll wurk the gent as your dorg follered, so as you can come on to my place to-morrer, put down the stiff, and bring your dorg 'ome again."

Mr D. Wragg, the "nat'ralist's," countenance had been a study as he delivered himself of this harangue, jerking, twitching, and showing his teeth, as if he were constantly about to make at an obtrusive fly settled upon his nose, but never achieving thereto. But now, stooping, he took his handkerchief from the hat upon the floor, put the newspaper in its place, and then indulged in a good wipe, as his sharp ferrety eyes gazed inquiringly from face to face.

"Now, look here, you, sir," said Lionel, roughly; "I offered a fiver for the dog, because that's what he's worth. I believe him to have been stolen; but never mind about that. I'll give five pounds to have him back, and there's an end of it. If you like to earn the money, bring the dog back; if not--cut!"

"Now, just a minute, gentlemen. See here now;" and resting his elbow upon his hip, the visitor stretched out one open palm, and patted it softly with the other; but instead of looking at any one, his restless eyes wandered from the sporting prints to the ballet-dancers upon the wall, and from them again to the cigar-boxes, pipes, and other evidences of the owner's tastes. "Now look here, gents; don't you make no mistake. I'm a respectable tradesman, and if it rested with me--there's your dorg. I don't want no rewards for doing what's right. I get my reward in making a good customer. But, don't you see, it's a gent as has got the dorg. It follered him, and he's took a fancy to it. He's a reg'lar customer of mine, and he says to me, he says--'I wouldn't part with that dorg,' he says, 'for ten pound, I wouldn't. He polished off ten rats in two minutes this very morning,' he says."

"That's the dog and no mistake," cried Lionel, excitedly.

"Toe be sure it is, gents," said D. Wragg, with his eyes twinkling; "and that there gent as has got him, sir, is a man as I never knowed to break his word. I says to him, though, I says--'Suppose,' I says, 'as the real owner of him was to turn up; you'd let him go then?' I says.

'Well,' he says, 'if he were a real gent, 'praps I might; but sech a n.o.ble beast as that ere didn't ought to be in anybody's hands.'"

Lionel looked, half-amused, half inquiringly, at Harry, who, however, only turned over the leaves of a book and avoided his gaze.

"What do you say to it all, Hal?" said Lionel at last.

"Ring the bell and send for a policeman," was the laconic reply.

"Was that there meant for me, sir?" said D. Wragg, with a snap which must have dislodged the fly had it been present, and giving himself a doggy twist that plainly indicated a tormenting flea. "Well, gents, if it's coming to that, I'm off. There's my card--that's me--D. Wragg, Nat'ralist. But don't you make no mistake; I aint a running away because of the police, which is a body of men as I despises, and well they knows it, too. I aint got your dorg--'taint likely; and you may search my place if you like with all the police in London; and if you can get your dorg back, why all I can say is, as you'll be luckier than most gents is; so goodnight to you."

D. Wragg jerked himself down, picked up his hat, and was about to put it on; but he dropped it the next moment, for with a bound Lionel leaped from his chair, and before Harry Clayton had recovered from his astonishment, D. Wragg was seized by the throat and being forcibly shaken, as the young man hissed between his teeth--

"You scoundrel! What have you done with my dog?"

Harry Clayton leaped up in his turn, and, partly by force, partly by entreaty, made Lionel quit his hold upon the trembling man, who once more picked up his hat and endeavoured to plant it in its proper place; but, what with his shaking hands, and the roughly folded paper inside, the attempt proved a failure.

The danger being removed, the confidence of D. Wragg began to return, and with an amount of jerking and twisting that was almost frightful in the way it threatened dislocation of sundry members, even if it did not break the man's back, he took the paper from his hat, and contrived to stuff it into one of the tight coat-pockets; then the head-piece was thrust on defiantly, and its owner began to jerk himself towards the door, shaking his fist the while.

"Here! confound you, stop!" roared Lionel, who was hot and excited.

"Name your time and I'll come and fetch the brute. I know that it is a stealing case. I can see that, though you think I'm a flat; but I'm not going to put myself to trouble, so I tell you at once."

"Don't you make no mistake," cried D. Wragg, defiantly; "and don't you call things by no hard names. I didn't steal your dorg. I'm a respectable tradesman, I am; and if you want a score--"

"Confound you! what time?" roared Lionel, angrily, as he once more started to his feet.

"Any time before one, gents--any time in the morning; but don't you make no mistake about me. And look here, gents, I know that there party well as has got your dorg--leastwise," he added, with a wink, "if it is the same dorg--and he's one of them suspicious sorter parties, that, if so be as he thought as there'd be any gammon--"

"Gammon! what do you mean?" cried Lionel, for the man paused.

"Dodges, gents, dodges; such as suspecting on him of having stolen the dorg, and getting of his name dirty. Why, if there was any of that sorter thing, that there dorg would never be seen again; and as to bringing the police, either uniform or plain clothes, it's my belief as he'd smell 'm a mile away, sure as my name's D. Wragg, nat'ralist; so don't you make no--"