Chapter 3. Of Black Beards and Pomeranians

"I've just talked to your Uncle Merton," Forsythe said as I approached. He was smoking a cigarette in a manner I could only describe as swarthy. There was some serious game afoot, from the looks of it. I treaded carefully.

"Oh?" I said, with a bit of a laugh. "What did he say?"

"He's—er—given me permission to marry you. If you like."

"Ah!" I must say would have appreciated a tad more emotion from the man, but he seemed decidedly pipped, and I didn't want to upset the old boy. "Yes, well—rather! I mean, just as you like, dearest."

"Right."

He puffed a bit more, threw the cigarette away, and started another.

"When did you want to get married, dear?" I asked.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know. I'll have to check with the office."

"Ah. Right."

"Sorry I haven't gotten you a ring."

"Oh, that's alright."

I watched as he smoked, a tad surprised that he was already through his second cigarette. It was probably very healthy. "I wonder if we might have the honeymoon in the South," I said, "Would the office let you off for a week or two? And then we might find a little flat somewhere nearby, wouldn't want to go too far out of the way, unless you liked the country. I don't dislike the country, mind you, but it can be a little dull. I had a friend who lived in the country, once. Didn't see her for five years, and it turns out that she was cooped up in Wheatley all that time painting chickens. You won't mind if I leave chickens out of the kitchen décor, do you? We'll find a place with a small kitchen and you won't even notice.…"

Which is certainly a lot for me to say in one go, because I'm usually interrupted before I can string a decent soliloquy together, and since Forsythe didn't seem to be brimming with conversation I carpe'ed the diem. Eventually, I was interrupted, and in the middle of a very interesting thought I'd been entertaining on a unique color scheme for kitchen curtains, when Forsythe threw down his tenth cigarette in a huff.

"Dispense with this talk of curtains, Violet!" he said, which at least showed he was listening.

I courteously dispensed. "Something up, dearest?"

"Something jolly well is! Only I can't tell you."

"Ah. Right."

We stood in silence for a while.

"Blast!"

"Yes, dear?"

"Nothing!"

And the soupy silence recommensed. I didn't mind that much. Moments of silence in the presence of Forsythe were truly golden.

"Violet?"

"Still here, old chap of mine."

"I wonder if you might—do me a favor. Can't tell you what it is, of course."

"Oh."

These pauses were beginning to grow on me. I amused myself by watching pigeons across street.

"Well?" he demanded. "Will you or not?"

"But—my dearest crumb, you haven't told me—"

"Do you see that man over there?"

"Where?"

"There!"

"Can you point him out?"

"Of course not! He'd spot me! He's got great big glasses and a black beard. There he is, across the square—don't look now!...Alright, look! Ah, you missed him!"

I pursed my lips. This was seeming to get a bit thick to me, so I played along. "Oh, I saw him."

"Good! Now, he's liable to come back into the square at any moment. When you see his Pomeranian—"

"What?"

"The Pomeranian—that little dog he had with him."

I didn't, of course, see the man, and I certainly didn't see his beastly dog, but I didn't want to appear thick. After all, this might be just the sort of thing that would induce my fiancée to consider me a true confidante in his most secret foreign office duties. I nodded with all the wisdom of Soloman. "Ah, yes, I see…" I said, and gave my chin a scratch for added effect. "Of course! It's all so simple now!"

"What is?"

"Well—you know. The Pomeranian."

He smiled, though it seemed a little forced, and took my hand. "Violet, dearest, please try to pay attention to what I'm saying for five seconds. Do you think you can do that for me, my love?"

"Yes, of course!"

"You see, the man—you remember the man, dear? The man with the Pomeranian?—well, he has the Pomeranian for a very dastardly purpose. By dastardly I mean very bad indeed. Darling, do you see what I mean? I can't tell you what it is, but you must trust me, darling."

I wasn't altogether pleased with his condescending manner, but I gave another one of my knowing nods.

"Don't look at me like that! It's perfectly simple! All you do is, when he comes back, simply pretend that you dropped something, and when you stoop to pick it up, you just put the dog in your handbag."

"Put a dog in my handbag? Have you gone mad?"

"Oh, don't be a stick, Violet—its very fashionable in America to put dogs in your purse. That monstrosity you've got on your arm could hold ten of the little blighters."

"But—but really, I can't just go into a crowded park and steal a man's dog! I'd be thrown in the jug for sure!"

"You won't get caught if you do it properly! The man's probably blind as a bat anyway."

"Darling, you know I'd do anything for you within reason, but—"

"But you said you'd do me a favor! It won't take ten minutes of your time. I'll bring the car around and be here to collect the little chap once you've got him." He folded his arms smugly. "Not any worse than anything you did at that school you went to."

"That was never proven!" I said, before I could stop myself. I looked down at my shoes. "Anyway, I was young then. I mean, stealing's not kindly looked on in the magistrate's office, you know…"

"Violet, if you're going to refuse me this one little thing I ask, I just don't know what our marriage is going to be like! I'll certainly never let you borrow the car."

"Borrow the car? I'm the one with a car, my lad, not you!"

"It'll be my car when we're married, anyway, and if you can't do something so simple as scoop a helpless dog into your purse—"

"But, Harry, darling-!"

"Don't 'Harry darling' me! Will you or will you not do this little favor for me?"

"Yes, yes, alright!"

"Splendid, old girl, I knew you'd pull through! I'll buy you a proper engagement ring for this, I really will!"

"Hmm."

"Anyway, you give me the keys to your car, and I'll drive 'round and pick you up as soon as you've snatched the little fellow, alright?"

I said no more to him, hoping to give him the silent treatment as I nonchalantly handed him the keys.

"Harry?"

"Yes, darling?"

"You're an ass!"