We went on through the quiet evening to the Berglund. I felt tired and old and not much use to anybody.
THE MAN WHO LIKED DOGS
ONE
There was a brand-new aluminum-gray DeSoto sedan in front of the door. I walked around that and went up three white steps, through a glass door and up three more carpeted steps. I rang a bell on the wall.
Instantly a dozen dog voices began to shake the roof. While they bayed and howled and yapped I looked at a small alcove office with a rolltop desk and a waiting room with mission leather chairs and three diplomas on the wall, at a mission table scattered with copies of the Dog Fancier’s Gazette.
Somebody quieted the dogs out back, then an inner door opened and a small pretty-faced man in a tan smock came in on rubber soles, with a solicitous smile under a pencil-line mustache. He looked around and under me, didn’t see a dog. His smile got more casual.
He said: «I’d like to break them of that, but I can’t. Every time they hear a buzzer they start up. They get bored and they know the buzzer means visitors.»
I said: «Yeah,» and gave him my card. He read it, turned it over and looked at the back, turned it back and read the front again.
«A private detective,» he said softly, licking his moist lips. «Well — I’m Dr. Sharp. What can I do for you?»
«I’m looking for a stolen dog.»
His eyes flicked at me. His soft little mouth tightened. Very slowly his whole face flushed. I said: «I’m not suggesting you stole the dog, Doc. Almost anybody could plant an animal in a place like this and you wouldn’t think about that chance they didn’t own it, would you?»
«One doesn’t just like the idea,» he said stiffly. «What kind of dog?»
«Police dog.»
He scuffed a toe on the thin carpet, looked at a corner of the ceiling. The flush went off his face, leaving it with a sort of shiny whiteness. After a long moment he said: «I have only one police dog here, and I know the people he belongs to. So I’m afraid —»
«Then you won’t mind my looking at him,» I cut in, and started towards the inner door.
Dr. Sharp didn’t move. He scuffed some more. «I’m not sure that’s convenient,» he said softly. «Perhaps later in the day.»
«Now would be better for me,» I said, and reached for the knob.
He scuttled across the waiting room to his little rolltop desk. His small hand went around the telephone there.
«I’ll — I’ll just call the police if you want to get tough,» he said hurriedly.
«That’s jake,» I said. «Ask for Chief Fulwider. Tell him Carmady’s here. I just came from his office.»
Dr. Sharp took his hand away from the phone. I grinned at him and rolled a cigarette around in my fingers.
«Come on, Doc,» I said. «Shake the hair out of your eyes and let’s go. Be nice and maybe I’ll tell you the story.»
He chewed both his lips in turn, stared at the brown blotter on his desk, fiddled with a corner of it, stood up and crossed the room in his white bucks, opened the door in front of me and we went along a narrow gray hallway. An operating table showed through an open door. We went through a door farther along, into a bare room with a concrete floor, a gas heater in the corner with a bowl of water beside it, and all along one wall two tiers of stalls with heavy wire mesh doors.
Dogs and cats stared at us silently, expectantly, behind the mesh. A tiny chihuahua snuffled under a big red Persian with a wide sheep-skin collar around its neck. There was a sourfaced Scottie and a mutt with all the skin off one leg and a silky-gray Angora and a Sealyham and two more mutts and a razor-sharp fox terrier with a barrel snout and just the right droop to the last two inches of it.
Their noses were wet and their eyes were bright and they wanted to know whose visitor I was.
I looked them over. «These are toys, Doe,» I growled. «I’m talking police dog. Gray and black, no brown. A male. Nine years old. Swell points all around except that his tail is too short. Do I bore you?»
He stared at me, made an unhappy gesture. «Yes, but —» he mumbled. «Well, this way.»
We went back out of the room. The animals looked disappointed, especially the chihuahua, which tried to climb through the wire mesh and almost made it. We went back out of a rear door into a cement yard with two garages fronting on it. One of them was empty. The other, with its door open a foot, was a box of gloom at the back of which a big dog clanked a chain and put his jaw down flat on the old comforter that was his bed.
«Be careful,» Sharp said. «He’s pretty savage at times. I had him inside, but he scared the others.»
I went into the garage. The dog growled. I went towards him and he hit the end of his chain with a bang. I said: «Hello there, Voss. Shake hands.»
He put his head back down on the comforter. His ears came forward halfway. He was very still. His eyes were wolfish, black-rimmed. Then the curved, too-short tail began to thump the floor slowly. I said: «Shake hands, boy,» and put mine out. In the doorway behind me the little vet was telling me to be careful. The dog came up slowly on his big rough paws, swung his ears back to normal and lifted his left paw. I shook it.
The little vet complained: «This is a great surprise to me, Mr — Mr. —»
«Carmady,» I said. «Yeah, it would be.»
I patted the dog’s head and went back out of the garage.
We went into the house, into the waiting room. I pushed magazines out of the way and sat on a corner of the mission table, looked the pretty little man over.
«Okay,» I said. «Give. What’s the name of his folks and where do they live?»
He thought it over sullenly. «Their name is Voss. They’ve moved East and they are to send for the dog when they’re settled.»
«Cute at that,» I said. «The dog’s named Voss after a German war flier. The folks are named after the dog.»
«You think I’m lying,» the little man said hotly.
«Uh-uh. You scare too easy for a crook. I think somebody wanted to ditch the dog. Here’s my story. A girl named Isobel Snare disappeared from her home in San Angelo, two weeks ago. She lives with her great-aunt, a nice old lady in gray silk who isn’t anybody’s fool. The girl had been stepping out with some pretty shady company in the night spots and gambling joints. So the old lady smelled a scandal and didn’t go to the law. She didn’t get anywhere until a girl friend of the Snare girl happened to see the dog in your joint. She told the aunt. The aunt hired me — because when the niece drove off in her roadster and didn’t come back she had the dog with her.»
I mashed out my cigarette on my heel and lit another. Dr. Sharp’s little face was as white as dough. Perspiration twinkled in his cute little mustache.
I added gently: «It’s not a police job yet. I was kidding you about Chief Fulwider. How’s for you and me to keep it under the hat?»
«What — what do you want me to do?» the little man stammered.
«Think you’ll hear anything more about the dog?»
«Yes,» he said quickly. «The man seemed very fond of him. A genuine dog lover. The dog was gentle with him.»
«Then you’ll hear from him,» I said. «When you do I want to know. What’s the guy look like?»
«He was tall and thin with very sharp black eyes. His wife is tall and thin like him. Well-dressed, quiet people.»
«The Snare girl is a little runt,» I said. «What made it so hush-hush?»
He stared at his foot and didn’t say anything.
«Okay,» I said. «Business is business. Play ball with me and you won’t get any adverse publicity. Is it a deal?» I held my hand out.