"Oh," she gasped out, "I see now. What a horrible idea!"
"Then you have no painful associations with any one particular terrier
apart from Flick?" persisted Dr. O'Farrell.
He really wanted to know. According to his theory, Timmy's subconscious
self could in some utterly inexplicable way build up an image of what was
in the minds of those about him.
"Perhaps I have," she confessed in a very low voice. "My husband had a
favourite terrier called Dandy, Flick's father in fact. The poor brute
got into such a state after his master's death that he had to be sent to
one of those lethal chambers in London. The whole thing was a great
trouble, and a great pain to me."
Dr. O'Farrell felt a thrill of exultation run through him. To find his
theory thus miraculously confirmed was very gratifying.
"That's most interesting!" he exclaimed, "for Timmy, even the very first
time he saw you walking down the avenue towards the front door of Old
Place, thought you were followed by a dog uncommonly like his terrier,
Flick. His theory seemed to be that both Flick and the cat did not fly at
_you_, but at your invisible companion."
"My invisible companion?"
He saw the colour again receding from her face.
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