Instantly the door shook as some heavy object hurled itself against
it. The barking rang through the house.

"Come round to the back," said Ukridge, giving up the idea of
conciliation, "we'll get in through the kitchen window."

The kitchen window proved to be insecurely latched. Ukridge threw it
open and we climbed in. The dog, hearing the noise, raced back along
the passage and flung himself at the door, scratching at the panels.
Ukridge listened with growing indignation.

"Millie, you know how to light a fire. Garnet and I will be collecting
cups and things. When that scoundrel Beale arrives I shall tear him
limb from limb. Deserting us like this! The man must be a thorough
fraud. He told me he was an old soldier. If that's the sort of
discipline they used to keep in his regiment, thank God, we've got a
Navy! Damn, I've broken a plate. How's the fire getting on, Millie?
I'll chop Beale into little bits. What's that you've got there, Garny
old horse? Tea? Good. Where's the bread? There goes another plate.
Where's Mrs. Beale, too? By Jove, that woman wants killing as much as
her blackguard of a husband. Whoever heard of a cook deliberately
leaving her post on the day when her master and mistress were expected
back? The abandoned woman. Look here, I'll give that dog three
minutes, and if it doesn't stop scratching that door by then, I'll
take a rolling pin and go out and have a heart-to-heart talk with it.
It's a little hard. My own house, and the first thing I find when I
arrive is somebody else's beastly dog scratching holes in the doors
and ruining the expensive paint. Stop it, you brute!"

The dog's reply was to continue his operations with immense vigour.