He turned his head. “Now, we have tried to trace the dog’s day and we have done remarkably well, too.” As he traced it for them, some faces began to wear at least the ghost of a smile, seeing the little dog frisking through the neighborhood. “Just before one,” Mike went on, “Bones ran across the Judge’s yard to the Allens’ where the kids were playing ball. Up to this time no one saw Bones above Greenwood Lane or up Hannibal Street. But Miss Diane Bourchard, recovering from a sore throat, was not in school today. After lunch, she sat on her porch directly across from Mr. Matlin’s back lot. She was waiting for school to be out, when she expected her friends to come by.
“She saw, not Bones, but Corky, an animal belonging to Mr. Daugherty, playing in Matlin’s lot at about two o’clock, I want your opinion. If poisoned bait had been lying there at two, would Corky have found it?”
“Seems so,” said Daugherty. “Thank God Corky didn’t.” He bit his tongue. “Corky’s a show dog,” he blundered.
“But Bones,” said Russell gently, “was more like a friend. That’s why we care, of course.”
“It’s a damned shame!” Daugherty looked around angrily.
“It is,” said Mrs. Baker. “He was a friend of mine, Bones was.”
“Go on,” growled Daugherty, “What else did you dig up?”
“Mr. Matlin left for his golf at eleven thirty. Now, you see, it looks as if Matlin couldn’t have left poison behind him.”
“I most certainly did not,” snapped Matlin. “I have said so. I will not stand for this sort of innuendo. I am not a liar. You said it was a conference...”
Mike held the man’s eye. “We are simply trying to find out what happened to the dog,” he said. Matlin fell silent.
“Surely you realize,” purred Mike, “that, human frailty being what it is, there may have been other errors in what we were told this afternoon. There was at least one more.
“Mr. and Mrs. Baker,” he continued, “worked in their garden this afternoon. Bones abandoned the ball game to visit the Bakers’ dog, Smitty. At three o’clock, the Bakers, after discussing the time carefully, lest it be too late in the day, decided to bathe Smitty. When they caught him, for his ordeal, Bones was still there... So, you see, Miss May Matlin, who says she saw Bones lying by the sidewalk before three o’clock was mistaken.”
Matlin twitched. Russell said sharply, “The testimony of the Bakers is extremely clear.” The Bakers, who looked alike, both brown outdoor people, nodded vigorously.
“The time at which Mr. Matlin returned is quite well established. Diane saw him. Mrs. Daugherty, next door, decided to take a nap, at five after three. She had a roast to put in at four thirty. Therefore, she is sure of the time. She went upstairs and from an upper window, she, too, saw Mr. Matlin come home. Both witnesses say he drove his car into the garage at three ten, got out, and went around the building to the right of it — on the weedy side.”
Mr. Matlin was sweating. His forehead was beaded. He did not speak.
Mike shifted papers. “Now, we know that the kids trooped up to Phil Bourchard’s kitchen at about a quarter of three. Whereas Bones, realizing that Smitty was in for it, and shying away from soap and water like any sane dog, went up Hannibal Street at three o’clock sharp. He may have known in some doggy way where Freddy was. Can we see Bones loping up Hannibal Street, going above Greenwood Lane?”
“We can,” said Daugherty. He was watching Matlin. “Besides, he was found above Greenwood Lane soon after.”
“No one,” said Mike slowly, “was seen in Matlin’s back lot, except Matlin. Yet, almost immediately after Matlin was there, the little dog died.”
“Didn’t Diane...?”
“Diane’s friends came at three-twelve. Their evidence is not reliable.” Diane blushed.
“This... this is intolerable!” croaked Matlin. “Why my back lot?”
Daugherty said, “There was no poison lying around my place, I’ll tell you that.”
“How do you know?” begged Matlin. And Freddy’s eyes, with the smudges under them, followed to Russell’s face. “Why not in the street? From some passing car?”
Mike said, “I’m afraid it’s not likely. You see, Mr. Otis Carnavon was stalled at the corner of Hannibal and Lee. Trying to flag a push. Anything thrown from a car on that block, he ought to have seen.”
“Was the poison quick?” demanded Daugherty. “What did he get?”
“It was quick. The dog could not go far after he got it. He got cyanide.”
Matlin’s shaking hand removed his glasses. They were wet.
“Some of you may be amateur photographers,” Mike said. “Mr. Matlin, is there cyanide in your cellar darkroom?”
“Yes, but I keep it... most meticulously...” Matlin began to cough.
When the noise of his spasm died, Mike said, “The poison was embedded in ground meat which analyzed, roughly, half-beef and the rest pork and veal, half and half.” Matlin encircled his throat with his fingers. “I’ve checked with four neighborhood butchers and the dickens of a time I had,” said Mike. No one smiled. Only Freddy looked up at him with solemn sympathy. “Ground meat was delivered to at least five houses in the vicinity. Meat that was one-half beef, one-quarter pork, one-quarter veal, was delivered at ten this morning to Matlin’s house.”
A stir like an angry wind blew over the room. The Chief of Police made some shift of his weight so that his chair creaked.
“It begins to look...” growled Daugherty.
“Now.” said Russell sharply, “we must be very careful. One more thing. The meat had been seasoned.”
“Seasoned!”
“With salt. And with... thyme.”
“Thyme,” groaned Matlin.
Freddy looked up at Miss Dana with bewildered eyes. She put her arm around him.
“As far as motives are concerned,” said Mike quietly, “I can’t discuss them. It is inconceivable to me that any man would poison a dog.” Nobody spoke. “However, where are we?” Mike’s voice seemed to catch Matlin just in time to keep him from falling off the chair. “We don’t know yet what happened to the dog.” Mike’s voice rang. “Mr. Matlin, will you help us to the answer?”
Matlin said thickly, “Better get those kids out of here.”
Miss Dana moved, but Russell said, “No. They have worked hard for the truth. They have earned it. And if it is to be had, they shall have it.”
“You know?” whimpered Matlin.
Mike said, “I called your golf club. I’ve looked into your trash incinerator. Yes, I know. But I want you to tell us.”
Daugherty said, “Well? Well?” And Matlin covered his face.
Mike said, gently, “I think there was an error. Mr. Matlin, I’m afraid, did poison the dog. But he never meant to, and he didn’t know he had done it.”
Matlin said, “I’m sorry... It’s... I can’t... She means to do her best. But she’s a terrible cook. Somebody gave her those... those herbs. Thyme... thyme in everything. She fixed me a lunch box. I... couldn’t stomach it. I bought my lunch at the club.”
Mike nodded.
Matlin went on, his voice cracking. “I never... You see, I didn’t even know it was meat the dog got. She said... she told me the dog was already dead.”
“And of course,” said Mike, “in your righteous wrath, you never paused to say to yourself, ‘Wait, what did happen to the dog?’ ”
“Mr. Russell, I didn’t lie. How could I know there was thyme in it? When I got home, I had to get rid of the hamburger she’d fixed for me — I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She tries... tries so hard...” He sat up suddenly. “But what she tried to do today,” he said, with his eyes almost out of his head, “was to poison me!” His bulging eyes roved. They came to Freddy. He gasped. He said, “Your dog saved my life!”