hunting.”
“Uuuu-in.”
“OK, Ramses, get dressed and join me in the kitchen.”
The omelette was ready. Mills slipped the whole thing into a soup plate that had been standing on the table since he ate his supper. He cut a huge chunk of bread and took the top off a tall bottle of beer. The aroma of the omelette and the prospect of the hunt delighted him. It struck him that life was a beautiful, simple thing when you made no particular demands on it. He began eating with a hearty appetite. Ramses, in a jacket and pants, sat down opposite him. He had done up the buttons of the jacket in the wrong holes, so that its front hung oddly. Mills felt slightly moved. Good old Ramses could always give him a laugh. But he’d never managed to teach any other dog-man to do up his own shoelaces!
“Eat? Want something to eat?”
“E-e-e-eee,” the creature replied, with a trickle of saliva running down his chops.
Mills pushed part of the omelette across the table to him and handed him a spoon.
“Here, and watch what you’re doing. Neat and clean, right? Neat and clean!”
Ramses laboriously stuck the spoon between thethree fingers of his right hand, which had nails like claws, and concentrated on conveying a little food to his mouth.
They were finishing their meal when someone rang the doorbell. A thin, pale man was standing out on the landing, holding a travel bag.
“I’m a supervisor at the boys’ boarding school. I’ve come from Mr. Van Vlyck to bring you the —”
“Yes, I know,” Mills interrupted him. “Come in.” He led the man into the kitchen. “Sit down.”
The man gingerly perched on a corner of the chair. He never took his eyes off Ramses, and his hands were trembling.
“Forgive me, but this is the first time I ever . . . I’ve never seen a —”
“Never seen a dog-man before? Well, better take your chance now and have a good look. His name’s Ramses. Say hello, Ramses!”
“L-l-o-o-o!” the creature got out, twisting his mouth into a distorted smile that uncovered two rows of powerful teeth.
The man flinched so abruptly that he almost fell off his chair. Beads of sweat shone on his forehead.
“Right,” said Mills. “So show me what you’ve got there.”
The man opened his bag and took out a pair of leather boots.
“Here. They belong to the young man. I hope they’ll do. And for the girl, I’ve brought this.”
He dug into the bag again, and, still staring fixedly at Ramses, produced a scarf.
“She often wore it. We asked.”
“No perfume to mask the girl’s own odor?” asked Mills.
“I don’t think so,” replied the man warily, not daring to say for sure.
Mills took the scarf from his hands, buried his nose in it, and sniffed noisily.
“That’s OK. You can go.”
“Thank you,” the man mumbled. “Thank you and — er — good-bye, Mr. Mills.”
At the kitchen door, he turned. He was probably hoping to hear the dog-man’s disturbing voice again. The terror he had felt when Ramses uttered his inarticulate greeting a moment before told him to run for his life, but his fascination was stronger than his fear.
“And good-bye to you too, Mr. . . . er . . .” he repeated, to Ramses.
The dog-man didn’t move a muscle.
“Don’t bother!” said Mills. “He reacts only to my voice. And my orders.”
“Oh — oh, is that so?” faltered the man.
“Yes,” Mills replied. “For instance, if I tell him to attack you here and now, then you have twenty seconds to live, no more.”
“Twenty seconds — really?” said the man, choking.
“Just enough time for him to leap at your throat and virtually tear your head off your body.”
“My head off — my body?” the man repeated. He gave a small, nervous laugh and then slowly backed out into the corridor, followed by the gentlegaze of Ramses. Mills could hear his steps accelerating, the front door of the apartment slamming, and then the sound of his feet running downstairs.
There was still half a saucepan
“Uuuu-in.”
“OK, Ramses, get dressed and join me in the kitchen.”
The omelette was ready. Mills slipped the whole thing into a soup plate that had been standing on the table since he ate his supper. He cut a huge chunk of bread and took the top off a tall bottle of beer. The aroma of the omelette and the prospect of the hunt delighted him. It struck him that life was a beautiful, simple thing when you made no particular demands on it. He began eating with a hearty appetite. Ramses, in a jacket and pants, sat down opposite him. He had done up the buttons of the jacket in the wrong holes, so that its front hung oddly. Mills felt slightly moved. Good old Ramses could always give him a laugh. But he’d never managed to teach any other dog-man to do up his own shoelaces!
“Eat? Want something to eat?”
“E-e-e-eee,” the creature replied, with a trickle of saliva running down his chops.
Mills pushed part of the omelette across the table to him and handed him a spoon.
“Here, and watch what you’re doing. Neat and clean, right? Neat and clean!”
Ramses laboriously stuck the spoon between thethree fingers of his right hand, which had nails like claws, and concentrated on conveying a little food to his mouth.
They were finishing their meal when someone rang the doorbell. A thin, pale man was standing out on the landing, holding a travel bag.
“I’m a supervisor at the boys’ boarding school. I’ve come from Mr. Van Vlyck to bring you the —”
“Yes, I know,” Mills interrupted him. “Come in.” He led the man into the kitchen. “Sit down.”
The man gingerly perched on a corner of the chair. He never took his eyes off Ramses, and his hands were trembling.
“Forgive me, but this is the first time I ever . . . I’ve never seen a —”
“Never seen a dog-man before? Well, better take your chance now and have a good look. His name’s Ramses. Say hello, Ramses!”
“L-l-o-o-o!” the creature got out, twisting his mouth into a distorted smile that uncovered two rows of powerful teeth.
The man flinched so abruptly that he almost fell off his chair. Beads of sweat shone on his forehead.
“Right,” said Mills. “So show me what you’ve got there.”
The man opened his bag and took out a pair of leather boots.
“Here. They belong to the young man. I hope they’ll do. And for the girl, I’ve brought this.”
He dug into the bag again, and, still staring fixedly at Ramses, produced a scarf.
“She often wore it. We asked.”
“No perfume to mask the girl’s own odor?” asked Mills.
“I don’t think so,” replied the man warily, not daring to say for sure.
Mills took the scarf from his hands, buried his nose in it, and sniffed noisily.
“That’s OK. You can go.”
“Thank you,” the man mumbled. “Thank you and — er — good-bye, Mr. Mills.”
At the kitchen door, he turned. He was probably hoping to hear the dog-man’s disturbing voice again. The terror he had felt when Ramses uttered his inarticulate greeting a moment before told him to run for his life, but his fascination was stronger than his fear.
“And good-bye to you too, Mr. . . . er . . .” he repeated, to Ramses.
The dog-man didn’t move a muscle.
“Don’t bother!” said Mills. “He reacts only to my voice. And my orders.”
“Oh — oh, is that so?” faltered the man.
“Yes,” Mills replied. “For instance, if I tell him to attack you here and now, then you have twenty seconds to live, no more.”
“Twenty seconds — really?” said the man, choking.
“Just enough time for him to leap at your throat and virtually tear your head off your body.”
“My head off — my body?” the man repeated. He gave a small, nervous laugh and then slowly backed out into the corridor, followed by the gentlegaze of Ramses. Mills could hear his steps accelerating, the front door of the apartment slamming, and then the sound of his feet running downstairs.
There was still half a saucepan
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