"Can't give him up without proof of identity," said the guard, and
Chum grinned at the idea of being thought so valuable.

I felt in my pockets for letters. There was only one, but it offered
to lend me £10,000 on my note of hand alone. It was addressed to "Dear
Sir," and though I pointed out to the guard that I was the "Sir," he
still kept tight hold of Chum. Strange that one man should be prepared
to trust me with £10,000, and another should be so chary of confiding
to me a small black spaniel.

"Tell the gentleman who I am," I said imploringly through the bars.
"Show him you know me."

"He's _really_ all right," said Chum, looking at the guard with his
great honest brown eyes. "He's been with us for years."

And then I had an inspiration. I turned down the inside pocket of my
coat; and there, stitched into it, was the label of my tailor's with
my name written on it. I had often wondered why tailors did this;
obviously they know how stupid guards can be.

"I suppose that's all right," said the guard reluctantly. Of course I
might have stolen the coat. I see his point.

"You--you wouldn't like a nice packing case for yourself?" I said
timidly. "You see, I thought I'd put Chum on the lead. I've got to
take him to Paddington, and he must be tired of his shell by now. It
isn't as if he were _really_ an armadillo."