along to the vet's."
Between them, he and Joyce lifted the dog. Terry gave
a yelp of pain. His teeth met in Joyce's arm.
"Terry--it's all right--all right, old man."
They got him into the taxi and drove off. Joyce wrapped
a handkerchief round her arm in an absentminded way.
Terry, distressed, tried to lick it.
"I know, darling; I know. You didn't mean to hurt me.
It's all right. It's all right, Terry."
She stroked his head. The man opposite watched her but
said nothing.
They arrived at the vet's fairly quickly and found him in. He was a red-faced man with an unsympathetic manner.
He handled Terry none too gently while Joyce stood by
agonized. The tears were running down her face. She kept
on talking in a low, reassuring voice.
"It's all right, darling. It's all right "
The
vet straightened himself.
"Impossible
to say exactly. I must make a proper examination.
You must leave him here."
"Oh!
I can't."
"I'm
afraid you must. I must take him below. I'll telephone
you in--say--half an hour."
Sick
at heart, Joyce gave in. She kissed Terry on his nose.
Blind with tears, she stumbled down the steps. The man
who had helped her was still there. She had forgotten him.
'.
'o
-tirea
'ill here. I'll take you back."
She
shook her
YOU."
taxi. She was hardly
conscious of him · by her side
without speaking. When
3ames',
he
spoke.
£XT TO ^ DOa
227
"Your wrist. You must see to it."
She looked down at it.
"Oh! That's all tight."
"It wants properly washing and tying up. I'll come in
with you."
He went with her up the stairs. She let him wash the
place and bind it up with a clean handkerchief. She only
said one thing.
"Terry didn't mean to do it. He would never, never mean to do it. He just didn't realize it was me. He must have
been in dreadful pain."
"I'm afraid so, yes."
"And perhaps they're hurting him dreadfully now?"
"I'm sure that everything that can he done for him is
being done. When the vet tings up, you can go and get him
and nurse him here."
"Yes, of COlWSe."
The man paused, then moved towards the door.
"I hope it will be all tight," he said awkwardly. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
Two or three minutes later it occurred to her that he had
been kind and that she had never thanked him.
Mrs. Barnes appeared, cup in hand.
"Now, my poor lamb, a cup of hot tea. You're all to
pieces, I can see that."
"Thank you, Mrs. Barnes, but I don't want any tea."
"It would do you good, dearie. Don't take on so now.
The doggie will be all tight, and even if he isn't, that
gentleman of yours will give you a Pretty new dog--"
"Don't, Mrs. Barnes. Don't. Please, if you don't mind,
I'd rather he left alone."
"Well, I never--there's the telephone."
Joyce sped down to it like an arrow. She lifted the receiver.
Mrs. Barnes panted down after her. She heard Joyce
say, "Yes--speaking. What? Oh! Oh! Yes. Yes, thank
you."
She put back the receiver. The face she turned to Mrs.
Barnes startled that good woman. It seemed devoid of any
life or expression.
228
Agatha Christie
"Terry's dead, Mrs. Barnes," she said. "He died alone
there without me."
She went upstairs and, going into her room, shut the door
very decisively.
"Well, I never," said Mrs. Barnes to the hall wallpaper.
Five minutes later she poked her head into the room.
Joyce was sitting bolt upright in a chair. She was not crying.
"It's your gentleman, miss. Shall I send him up?"
A sudden light came into Joyce's eyes.
"Yes, please. I'd like to sec him."
Halliday came in boisterously.
"Well, here we are. I haven't lost much time, have r?
I'm prepared to carry you off from this dreadful place here
and now. You can't stay here. Come on, get your things
on."
"There's no need, Arthur."
"No need? What do you mean?"
"Terry's dead. I don't need to marry you now."
"What are you talking about?"
"My dog Terry. He's dead. I was only marrying you
so that we could be together."
Halliday stared at her, his face growing redder and redder.
"You're mad."
"I dare say. People who love dogs are."
"You seriously tell me that you were only marrying me
because-- Oh, it's absurd!"
"Why did you think I was marrying you? You knew I
hated you."
"You were manying me because I could give you a jolly
good time--and so I can."
"To my mind," said Joyce, "that is a much more revolting
motive than mine. Anyway, it's off. I'm not marrying you!"
"Do you realize that you are treating me damned badly?"
She looked at him coolly but with such a blaze in her
eyes that he drew back before it.
"I don't think so. I've heard you talk about getting a kick
out of life. That's what you got out of me--and my dislike
of you heightened it. You knew I hated you and you enjoyed
it. When I let you kiss me yesterday, you were disappointed
because I didn't flinch or wince. There's something brutal
in you, Arthur, something cruel--something that likes hurt
ing ....
And now
to mysdf.
He sph "Whw 'That's!
"You
You
loy e la unex we
Joyce
hat d
mhi
e back
pgmntly
dull.
mx) A m)O
229
body could treat you as badly as you deserve.
rio you mind getting out of my room? I want it
{tttered a little.
hat are you going to do? You've no money."
my business. Please go."
ttle devil, You absolutely maddening little devil.
Ft done with me yet."
gh routed him as nothing else had done. It was
eted. He went awkwardly down the stairs and Y.
eared a sigh. She pulled on her shabby black felt her mm went out. She walked along the streets
!ly, neither thinking nor feeling. Somewhere at if her mind there was pain--pain that she would
el, but for the moment everything was mercifully
seat the Registry Offi and hesitated.
,
........ do something There s the river, of course 'I we
olten muu
·
.
.
. , ·
- . *ht of that Just fmish everything But it s so cold
anO wet
'
'
really
don t think I m bra e enough. I m not brave
" n t matter, smd loyce I can take anylt d
; post no . ' ,,--
.
kind of
,,Th. rMy friend, whom I lived with, has--gone away."
[''ou'd consider going abroad'"
Juy ,
·
"Yes, 'mtded.
"Mr. ?,11 far away as possible."
c:date qlaby is here now, as it happens, interviewing
. h. I 11 send you m to him
Ill
.
' ....
sweringt!er minute Joyce was sitting m a cubicle an
..... ,. estions. Somethin about her intefiocuto seemed
. ,..niliar to her, but she could not place him And
..... · 'n ' only her mind awoke a little, aware that the last
"nn - as faintly out of the ordinary.
asking. get on well with old lades? Mr. Allaby was
loyce
niled in spite of herself.
230
Agatha Christie
"I think so."
"You see my aunt, who lives with me, is rather difficult.
She is verY fond of me and she is a great dear really, but
I fancy that a young woman might find her rather difficult
sometimes."
"I think I'm patient and good-tempered," said Joyce,
"and I have always got on with elderly people verY well."
"You would have to do certain things for my aunt and
otherwise you would have the charge of my little boy, who
is three. His mother died a year ago."
There was a pause.
"Then if you think you would like the post, we will
consider that settled. We travel out next week. I will let
you know the exact date, and I expect you would like a
small advance of salary to fit yourself out."
"Thank you verY much. That would be verY kind of you."
They had both risen. Suddenly Mr. Allaby said awkwardly:
"I I hate to butt in--I mean I wish---I would like to
know--I mean, is your dog all right?"
For the first time Joyce looked at him. The colour came
into her face, her blue eyes deepened almost to black. She
looked straight at him. She had thought him elderly, but he
was not So verY old. Hair turning grey, a pleasant weatherbeaten
face, rather stooping shoulders, eyes that were
brown and something of the shy kindliness of a dog's. He
looked a little like a dog, Joyce thought.
"Oh, it's you," she said. "I thought afterwardsI never
thanked you."
"No need. Didn't expect it. Knew what you were feeling
like. What about the poor old chap?"
The tears came into Joyce's eyes. They streamed down
her cheeks. Nothing on earth could have kept them back.
"He's dead."
"Oh!"
He said nothing else, but to Joyce that Oh! was. one of
the most comforting things she had ever heard. There was
everYthing in it that couldn't be put into words.
After a minute or two he said jerkily:
"Matter of fact, I had a dog. Died two years ago. Was
NEXT TO ^ DOG
231
with a crowd of people at the time who couldn't understand making heavy weather about it. Pretty rotten to have to
carry on as though nothing had happened."
Joyce nodded.
"I know--" said Mr. Allaby.
He took her hand, squeezed it hard and dropped it. He went out of the little cubicle. Joyce followed in a minute
or two and fixed up various details with the ladylike person.
When she arrived home, Mrs. Barnes met her on the doorstep
with that relish in gloom typical of her class.
"They've sent the poor little doggie's body home," she announced. "It's up in your room. I was saying to
Barnes, and he's ready to dig anice little hole in the back
garden--"
A LOOKATA TALF. NTA$MYSTERIOU$LO TI BO01 THAT MADE IIF. R FAMOUS.
AGATHA CHRISTIE:
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
The life behind the mysteries
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Victorian England, her early writing attempts, her first
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to archaeologist Max Mallowan. From the birth of
her career to the conception of her most beloved characters,
Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple, Christie offers a
touching and insighOCul gifi to herons.
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