"It would be jolly to spend Easter in Vienna this year," said
Strudwarden, "and look up some of my old friends there. It's about
the jolliest place I know of to be at for Easter--"
"I thought we had made up our minds to spend Easter at Brighton,"
interrupted Lena Strudwarden, with an air of aggrieved surprise.
"You mean that you had made up your mind that we should spend Easter
there," said her husband; "we spent last Easter there, and
Whitsuntide as well, and the year before that we were at Worthing,
and Brighton again before that. I think it would be just as well to
have a real change of scene while we are about it."
"The journey to Vienna would be very expensive," said Lena.
"You are not often concerned about economy," said Strudwarden, "and
in any case the trip of Vienna won't cost a bit more than the rather
meaningless luncheon parties we usually give to quite meaningless
acquaintances at Brighton. To escape from all that set would be a
holiday in itself."
Strudwarden spoke feelingly; Lena Strudwarden maintained an equally
feeling silence on that particular subject. The set that she
gathered round her at Brighton and other South Coast resorts was
composed of individuals who might be dull and meaningless in
themselves, but who understood the art of flattering Mrs.
Strudwarden. She had no intention of foregoing their society and
their homage and flinging herself among unappreciative strangers in
a foreign capital.
"You must go to Vienna alone if you are bent on going," she said; "I
couldn't leave Louis behind, and a dog is always a fearful nuisance
in a foreign hotel, besides all the fuss and separation of the
quarantine restrictions when one comes back. Louis would die if he
was parted from me for even a week. You don't know what that would
mean to me."
Lena stooped down and kissed the nose of the diminutive brown
Pomeranian that lay, snug and irresponsive, beneath a shawl on her
lap.
"Look here," said Strudwarden, "this eternal Louis business is
getting to be a ridiculous nuisance. Nothing can be done, no plans
can be made, without some veto connected with that animal's whims or
convenience being imposed. If you were a priest in attendance on
some African fetish you couldn't set up a more elaborate code of
restrictions. I believe you'd ask the Government to put off a
General Election if you thought it would interfere with Louis's
comfort in any way."
By way of answer to this tirade Mrs. Strudwarden stooped down again
and kissed the irresponsive brown nose. It was the action of a
woman with a beautifully meek nature, who would, however, send the
whole world to the stake sooner than yield an inch where she knew
herself to be in the right.
"It isn't as if you were in the least bit fond of animals," went on
Strudwarden, with growing irritation; "when we are down at
Kerryfield you won't stir a step to take the house dogs out, even if
they're dying for a run, and I don't think you've been in the
stables twice in your life. You laugh at what you call the fuss
that's being made over the extermination of plumage birds, and you
are quite indignant with me if I interfere on behalf of an ill-
treated, over-driven animal on the road. And yet you insist on
every one's plans being made subservient to the convenience of that
stupid little morsel of fur and selfishness."
"You are prejudiced against my little Louis," said Lena, with a
world of tender regret in her voice.
"I've never had the chance of being anything else but prejudiced
against him," said Strudwarden; "I know what a jolly responsive
companion a doggie can be, but I've never been allowed to put a
finger near Louis. You say he snaps at any one except you and your
maid, and you snatched him away from old Lady Peterby the other day,
when she wanted to pet him, for fear he would bury his teeth in her.
All that I ever see of him is the top of his unhealthy-looking
little nose, peeping out from his basket or from your muff, and I
occasionally hear his wheezy little bark when you take him for a
walk up and down the corridor. You can't expect one to get
extravagantly fond of a dog of that sort. One might as well work up
an affection for the cuckoo in a cuckoo-clock."
"He loves me," said Lena, rising from the table, and bearing the
shawl-swathed Louis in her arms. "He loves only me, and perhaps
that is why I love him so much in return. I don't care what you say
against him, I am not going to be separated from him. If you insist
on going to Vienna you must go alone, as far as I am concerned. I
think it would be much more sensible if you were to come to Brighton
with Louis and me, but of course you must please yourself."
"You must get rid of that dog," said Strudwarden's sister when Lena
had left the room; "it must be helped to some sudden and merciful
end. Lena is merely making use of it as an instrument for getting
her own way on dozens of occasions when she would otherwise be
obliged to yield gracefully to your wishes or to the general
convenience. I am convinced that she doesn't care a brass button
about the animal itself. When her friends are buzzing round her at
Brighton or anywhere else and the dog would be in the way, it has to
spend whole days alone with the maid, but if you want Lena to go
with you anywhere where she doesn't want to go instantly she trots
out the excuse that she couldn't be separated from her dog. Have
you ever come into a room unobserved and heard Lena talking to her
beloved pet? I never have. I believe she only fusses over it when
there's some one present to notice her."
"I don't mind admitting," said Strudwarden, "that I've dwelt more
than once lately on the possibility of some fatal accident putting
an end to Louis's existence. It's not very easy, though, to arrange
a fatality for a creature that spends most of its time in a muff or
asleep in a toy kennel. I don't think poison would be any good;
it's obviously horribly over-fed, for I've seen Lena offer it
dainties at table sometimes, but it never seems to eat them."
"Lena will be away at church on Wednesday morning," said Elsie
Strudwarden reflectively; "she can't take Louis with her there, and
she is going on to the Dellings for lunch. That will give you
several hours in which to carry out your purpose. The maid will be
flirting with the chauffeur most of the time, and, anyhow, I can
manage to keep her out of the way on some pretext or other."
"That leaves the field clear," said Strudwarden, "but unfortunately
my brain is equally a blank as far as any lethal project is
concerned. The little beast is so monstrously inactive; I can't
pretend that it leapt into the bath and drowned itself, or that it
took on the butcher's mastiff in unequal combat and got chewed up.
In what possible guise could death come to a confirmed basket-
dweller? It would be too suspicious if we invented a Suffragette
raid and pretended that they invaded Lena's boudoir and threw a
brick at him. We should have to do a lot of other damage as well,
which would be rather a nuisance, and the servants would think it
odd that they had seen nothing of the invaders."
"I have an idea," said Elsie; "get a box with an air-tight lid, and
bore a small hole in it, just big enough to let in an indiarubber
tube. Pop Louis, kennel and all, into the box, shut it down, and
put the other end of the tube over the gas-bracket. There you have
a perfect lethal chamber. You can stand the kennel at the open
window afterwards, to get rid of the smell of gas, and all that Lena
will find when she comes home late in the afternoon will be a
placidly defunct Louis."
"Novels have been written about women like you," said Strudwarden;
"you have a perfectly criminal mind. Let's come and look for a
box."
Two mornings later the conspirators stood gazing guiltily at a stout
square box, connected with the gas-bracket by a length of
indiarubber tubing.
"Not a sound," said Elsie; "he never stirred; it must have been
quite painless. All the same I feel rather horrid now it's done."
"The ghastly part has to come," said Strudwarden, turning off the
gas. "We'll lift the lid slowly, and let the gas out by degrees.
Swing the door to and fro to send a draught through the room."
Some minutes later, when the fumes had rushed off, he stooped down
and lifted out the little kennel with its grim burden. Elsie gave
an exclamation of terror. Louis sat at the door of his dwelling,
head erect and ears pricked, as coldly and defiantly inert as when
they had put him into his execution chamber. Strudwarden dropped
the kennel with a jerk, and stared for a long moment at the miracle-
dog; then he went into a peal of chattering laughter.
It was certainly a wonderful imitation of a truculent-looking toy
Pomeranian, and the apparatus that gave forth a wheezy bark when you
pressed it had materially helped the imposition that Lena, and
Lena's maid, had foisted on the household. For a woman who disliked
animals, but liked getting her own way under a halo of
unselfishness, Mrs. Strudwarden had managed rather well.
"Louis is dead," was the curt information that greeted Lena on her
return from her luncheon party.
"Louis DEAD!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, he flew at the butcher-boy and bit him, and he bit me, too,
when I tried to get him off, so I had to have him destroyed. You
warned me that he snapped, but you didn't tell me that he was
downright dangerous. I shall have to pay the boy something heavy by
way of compensation, so you will have to go without those buckles
that you wanted to have for Easter; also I shall have to go to
Vienna to consult Dr. Schroeder, who is a specialist on dog-bites,
and you will have to come too. I have sent what remains of Louis to
Rowland Ward to be stuffed; that will be my Easter gift to you
instead of the buckles. For Heaven's sake, Lena, weep, if you
really feel it so much; anything would be better than standing there
staring as if you thought I had lost my reason."
Lena Strudwarden did not weep, but her attempt at laughing was an
unmistakable failure.
_________
-THE END-
[HH Munro] Saki's short story: Louis
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