he horror we simulate when a bundle of letters is brought into
the room, to have letters and to be called up on the telephone being
really adventures and therefore welcome; and he then crossed the room
to answer the call.

"Shall I go?" I asked, thinking that he might prefer to be alone.

"Oh, no," he said, and I remained. I was not trying to overhear, but
it couldn't be helped.

This is the conversation (his half) that I heard:--

"Yes."

"Speaking. Who is it?"

"Oh, I'm so glad! I was getting horribly nervous. How is he?"

"Good Heavens! I was afraid he might be. What do you think?"

"Of course I must trust you. But we must never let my wife know."

"I'll think about it and let you know."

"Quite likely. I'll go into that and let you know. She can't be
absolutely alone anyway. There must be another some time."

"And what do you propose to do now?"

"You're sure it will be painless?"

"I wouldn't have him suffer for anything."

"Thank you very much. I shall tell my wife he died in his sleep.
Good-bye."

What, I wonder, would you have made of that? Some telephone
conversations are easy to construct, but this to me was a puzzle. What
had Anderson been up to? It must be an awful moment, I have often
thought as I read divorce and other cases, when a friend is suddenly
turned into a witness; and I had the feeling that that might be my lot
now. Those clever cross-examining devils, they can get anything out of
you. If Anderson had known who was ringing him up he would probably
(so I reasoned) have got me out of the room; but, having once started,
he decided to brazen it out as the less suspicious way.

As so often happens, however, I was wrong. This is the whole innocent
conversation:--

"Is that 1260?"

"Yes."

"Is Mr. Anderson there?"

"Speaking. Who is it?"

"Harding, the veterinary surgeon."

"Oh, I'm so glad! I was getting horribly nervous. How is he?"

"He's worse."

"Good Heavens! I was afraid he might be. What do you think?"

"I think we had better put an end to him."

"Of course I must trust you. But we must never let my wife know."

"Shall I be looking about for another?"

"I'll think about it and let you know."

"Perhaps a totally different breed would be better; not another Peke.
There'd be fewer unhappy associations then, don't you see?"

"Quite likely. I'll go into that and let you know. She can't be
absolutely alone, anyway. There must be another some time."

"Yes."