Clovis Sangrail had sat unusually silent during the discussion on the
possibilities of Siberian Magic; after lunch he side-tracked Lord Pabham
into the comparative seclusion of the billiard-room and delivered himself
of a searching question.
"Have you such a thing as a she-wolf in your collection of wild animals?
A she-wolf of moderately good temper?"
Lord Pabham considered. "There is Loiusa," he said, "a rather fine
specimen of the timber-wolf. I got her two years ago in exchange for
some Arctic foxes. Most of my animals get to be fairly tame before
they've been with me very long; I think I can say Louisa has an angelic
temper, as she-wolves go. Why do you ask?"
"I was wondering whether you would lend her to me for to-morrow night,"
said Clovis, with the careless solicitude of one who borrows a collar
stud or a tennis racquet.
"To-morrow night?"
"Yes, wolves are nocturnal animals, so the late hours won't hurt her,"
said Clovis, with the air of one who has taken everything into
consideration; "one of your men could bring her over from Pabham Park
after dusk, and with a little help he ought to be able to smuggle her
into the conservatory at the same moment that Mary Hampton makes an
unobtrusive exit."
Lord Pabham stared at Clovis for a moment in pardonable bewilderment;
then his face broke into a wrinkled network of laughter.
"Oh, that's your game, is it? You are going to do a little Siberian
Magic on your own account.
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