The Shaggy Dog and Other Murders
by
Fredric Brown
The Shaggy Dog Murders
Peter Kidd should have suspected the shaggy dog of something, right away. He got into trouble the first time he saw the animal. It was the first hour of the first day of Peter Kidd's debut as a private investigator. Specifically, ten minutes after nine in the morning.
It had taken will power on the part of Peter Kidd to make himself show up a dignified ten minutes late at his own office that morning instead of displaying an unprofessional over enthusiasm by getting there an hour early. By now, he knew, the decorative secretary he had engaged would have the office open. He could make his entrance with quiet and decorum.
The meeting with the dog occurred in the downstairs hallway of the Wheeler Building, halfway between the street door and the elevator. It was entirely the fault of the shaggy dog, who tried to pass to Peter Kidd's right, while the man who held the dog's leash--a chubby little man with a bulbous red nose--tried to walk to the left. It didn't work.
"Sorry," said the man with the leash, as Peter Kidd stood still, then tried to step over the leash. That didn't work, either, because the dog jumped up to try to lick Peter Kidd's ear, raising the leash too high to be straddled, even by Peter's long legs.
Peter raised a hand to rescue his shell-rimmed glasses, in imminent danger of being knocked off by the shaggy dog's display of affection.
"Perhaps," he said to the man with the leash, "you had better circumambulate me."
"Huh?"
"Walk around me, I mean," said Peter. "From the Latin, you know. Circum, around--ambulare, to walk. Parallel to circumnavigate, which means to sail around. From ambu-lare also comes the word ambulance-- although an ambu-lance has nothing to do with walking. But that is because it came through the French hôpital ambulant, which actually means--"
"Sorry," said the man with the leash. He had already circumambulated Peter Kidd, having started the procedure even before the meaning of the word had been ex-plained to him.
"Quite all right," said Peter.
"Down, Rover," said the man with the leash. Regretfully, the shaggy dog desisted in its efforts to reach Peter's ear and permitted him to move on to the elevator.
"Morning, Mr. Kidd," said the elevator operator, with the deference due a new tenant who has been introduced as a personal friend of the owner of the building.
"Good morning," said Peter. The elevator took him to the fifth, and top floor. The door clanged shut behind him and he walked with firm stride to the office door where-upon--with chaste circumspection--golden letters spelled out:
PETER KIDD PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS
He opened the door and went in. Everything in the office looked shiny new, including the blonde stenographer be-hind the typewriter desk. She said, "Good morning, Mr. Kidd. Did you forget the letterheads you were going to pick up on the floor below?"
He shook his head. "Thought I'd look in first to see if there were any--ah--"
"Clients? Yes, there were two. But they didn't wait. They'll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes."
Peter Kidd's eyebrows lifted above the rims of his glasses. "Two? Already?"
"Yes. One was a pudgy-looking little man. Wouldn't leave his name."
"And the other?" asked Peter.
"A big shaggy dog," said the blonde. "I got his name, though. It's Rover. The man called him that. He tried to kiss me."
"Eh?" said Peter Kidd.
"The dog, not the man. The man said 'Down, Rover,' so that's how I know his name. The dog's, not the man's."
Peter looked at her reprovingly. He said, "I'll be back in five minutes," and went down the stairs to the floor below. The door of the Henderson Printery was open, and he walked in and stopped in surprise just inside the doorway. The pudgy man and the shaggy dog were standing at the counter. The man was talking to Mr. Henderson, the proprietor.
"--will be all right," he was saying. "I'll pick them up Wednesday afternoon, then. And the price is two-fifty?" He took a wallet from his pocket and opened it. There seemed to be about a dozen bills in it. He put one on the counter. "Afraid I have nothing smaller than a ten." "Quite all right, Mr. Asbury," said Henderson, taking change from the register. "Your cards will be ready for you."
Meanwhile, Peter walked to the counter also, a safe distance from the shaggy dog. From the opposite side of the barrier Peter was approached by a female employee of Mr. Henderson. She smiled at him and said, "Your order is ready. I'll get it for you."
She went to the back room and Peter edged along the counter, read, upside down, the name and address written on the order blank lying there: Robert Asbury, 633 Kenmore Street. The telephone number was BEacon 3-3434. The man and the dog, without noticing Peter Kidd this time, went on their way out of the door.
Henderson said, "Hullo, Mr. Kidd. The girl taking care of you?"
Peter nodded, and the girl came from the back room with his package. A sample letterhead was pasted on the outside. He looked at it and said, "Nice work. Thanks."
Back upstairs, Peter found the pudgy man sitting in the waiting room, still holding the shaggy dog's leash.
The blonde said, "Mr. Kidd, this is Mr. Smith, the gentleman who wishes to see you. And Rover."
The shaggy dog ran to the end of the leash, and Peter Kidd patted its head and allowed it to lick his hand. He said, Glad to know you, Mr.--ah--Smith?'
"Aloysius Smith," said the little man. "I have a case I'd like you to handle for me."
"Come into my private office, then, please, Mr. Smith. Ah--you don t mind if my secretary takes notes of our conversation?"
"Not at all," said Mr. Smith, trolling along at the end of the leash alter the dog, which was following Peter Kidd into the inner office. Everyone but the shaggy dog took chairs.
The shaggy dog tried to climb up onto the desk, but was dissuaded.
"I understand," said Mr. Smith, "that private detectives always ask a retainer. I--" He took the wallet from his pocket and began to take ten-dollar bills out of it. He took out ten of them and put them on the desk. "I--I hope a hundred dollars will be sufficient."
"Ample," said Peter Kidd. "What is it you wish me to do?"
The little man smiled deprecatingly. He said, "I'm not exactly sure. But I'm scared. Somebody has tried to kill me--twice. I want you to find the owner of this dog. I can't just let it go, because it follows me now. I suppose I could--ah--take it to the pound or something, but maybe these people would keep on trying to kill me. And anyway, I'm curious."
Peter Kidd took a deep breath. He said, "So am I. Can you put it a bit more succinctly?"
"Huh?"
"Succinctly," said Peter Kidd patiently, "comes from the Latin word, succinctus, which is the past participle of succingere, the literal meaning of which is to gird up--but in this sense, it--"
"I knew I'd seen you before," said the pudgy man. "You're the circumabulate guy. I didn't get a good look at you then, but--"
"Circumambulate," corrected Peter Kidd.
The blonde quit drawing pothooks and looked from one to another of them. "What was that word?" she asked.
Peter Kidd grinned. "Never mind, Miss Latham. I'll explain later. Ah--Mr. Smith, I take it you are referring to the dog which is now with you. When and where did you acquire it--and how?"
"Yesterday, early afternoon. I found it on Vine Street near Eighth. It looked and acted lost and hungry. I took it home with me. Or rather, it followed me home once I'd spoken to it. It wasn't until I'd fed it at home that I found the note tied to its collar."