s, an excessive form of atonement, but I could not grovel to quite
such an abject extent.

I wondered what the colonel would say. Simple and hearty, as a general
rule, he had a hot temper on occasions, and it made me ill as I thought,
would he and, worse still, would _Lilian_ believe it was really an
accident? They knew what an interest I had in silencing the deceased
poodle--would they believe the simple truth?

I vowed that they _should_ believe me. My genuine remorse and the
absence of all concealment on my part would speak powerfully for me. I
would choose a favourable time for my confession; that very evening I
would tell all.

Still I shrank from the duty before me, and, as I knelt down sorrowfully
by the dead form and respectfully composed his stiffening limbs, I
thought that it was unjust of fate to place a well-meaning man, whose
nerves were not of iron, in such a position.

Then, to my horror, I heard a well-known ringing tramp on the road
outside, and smelled the peculiar fragrance of a Burmese cheroot. It was
the colonel himself, who had been taking out the doomed Bingo for his
usual evening run.

I don't know how it was, exactly, but a sudden panic came over me. I
held my breath, and tried to crouch down unseen behind the laurels; but
he had seen me, and came over at once to speak to me across the hedge.

He stood there, not two yards from his favourite's body! Fortunately it
was unusually dark that evening.

"Ha, there you are, eh!" he began, heartily; "don't rise, my boy, don't
rise."

I was trying to put myself in front of the poodle, and did not rise--at
least, only my hair did.

"You're out late, ain't you?" he went on; "laying out your garden, hey?"

I could not tell him that I was laying out his poodle! My voice shook
as, with a guilty confusion that was veiled by the dusk, I said it was a
fine evening--which it was not.

"Cloudy, sir," said the colonel, "cloudy; rain before morning, I think.
By the way, have you seen anything of Bingo in here?"

This was the turning-point. What I _ought_ to have done was to say
mournfully, "Yes, I'm sorry to say I've had a most unfortunate accident
with him. Here he is; the fact is, I'm afraid I've _shot_ him!"

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,