name
of Beale and his wife are in charge at present. I wrote to them telling
them that we were coming to-day. They will be ready for us. That's the
way to do things, Garny old horse. Quiet efficiency. Perfect
organisation."

We were at the front door by this time. Ukridge rang the bell. The
noise echoed through the house, but there was no answering footsteps.
He rang again. There is no mistaking the note of a bell in an empty
house. It was plain that the competent man and his wife were out.

"Now what?" I said.

Mrs. Ukridge looked at her husband with calm confidence.

"This," said Ukridge, leaning against the door and endeavouring to
button his collar at the back, "reminds me of an afternoon in the
Argentine. Two other cheery sportsmen and myself tried for
three-quarters of an hour to get into an empty house where there looked
as if there might be something to drink, and we'd just got the door
open when the owner turned up from behind a tree with a shot-gun. It
was a little difficult to explain. As a matter of fact, we never did
what you might call really thresh the matter out thoroughly in all its
aspects, and you'd be surprised what a devil of a time it takes to pick
buck-shot out of a fellow. There was a dog, too."

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.