"Oh, Dick, you're a regular prophet of evil tonight!"

However, she withdrew the paper before the guard's fingers, closed
on it. The next moment a figure like a phantom, making no noise, almost
made her scream. Dick produced a repeating pistol with that sudden
swiftness that proves old acquaintance with the things, and the corporal
of the guard sprang back with a shout of warning to his men, imagining
the pistol was intended for himself. Tess recovered presence of mind first.

"It's all right, Dick. Put the gun out of sight."

She stretched out her hand and a cold nose touched her finger-ends,
sniffing them. A dog's forefeet were on the shaft, and his eyes gleamed
balefully in the carriage lamp light.

"Good Trotters! Good boy, Trotters!"

She remembered Tom Tripe's lecture about calling dogs by name,
wondering whether the rule applied to owners only, or whether she,
too, could make the creature "do this own thinking." Before she could
decide what she would like the dog to think about he was gone again
as silently as he had come. The guard was thoroughly on the qui vive
by that time, if not suspicious, then officious. How should one protect
the privacy of a palace gate if unknown memsahibs in dog-carts, with
saises who knew English but did not answer when spoken to in the
native tongue, were to be allowed to draw up in front of the gate at
unseemly hours and remain there indefinitely. The risaldar ordered
Tess away without further ceremony, making his meaning plain by
taking the horse's head and starting him.