Death of a Delft Blue

‘But what about the other girl?’ Gavin asked. ‘That’s why we are inclined to rule out suicide, you see. It’s not very likely they both committed suicide, is it? Do you know anything about the other girl at all? What about her?’

‘Ah, yes, Mabel,’ said the landlady, and sighed. ‘That’s more of a mystery, that is. If Mabel met the gentleman once, it was (so far as anything I knew) the only time, unless, of course, there was something underhand going on.’ (This, again, was reiteration, and Gavin sighed inwardly, thanked her and went off to have his fourth interview with the postman boy-friend).

He was fortunate enough to find this youth off-duty and anxious to discuss a new theory.

‘Look,’ said the postman, ‘there’s this dog, see?’

‘What dog?’

‘This Great Dane. Used to frighten me, it did. Big as a young calf, and savage! — well, I couldn’t tell you! I says to the sub-postmaster, I says, “I ain’t a-going nigh that there Hound o’ the Basketvill”, I says, “not if the Postmaster-General hisself was to go on his bended knees to me,” I says. “That dog,” I says, “ain’t one of the ’azards as I’m called upon to face,” I says. “Terriers, yes,” I says. “Them you can fend off. Mongrels, yes,” I says. “Friendly, most mongrels is. Boxers, grey’ounds, even collies, (although they can be treacherous), yes,” I says. “Pekes, Poms, Labradors, setters, bulldogs, Bostons — I’ve, even knowed a nice-natured Rhodesian ridgeback and a well-be’aved Alsatian-all of them,” I say, “and welcome, but a Great Dane no! Anyway, not this partic’lar one. He’s a maneater, that’s what he is.” But the sub-postmaster don’t see it my way.’

‘You mean you refused to deliver letters to this particular house?’ asked Gavin.

‘I made my protest, but the sub-postmaster, he says as how my duty has to come first. I’m paid and employed to deliver letters and parcels, he says, and dogs is beside the point. Dogs, he says, is an occupational ’azard, and owners can be summoned for keeping a savage animal, or one not under control. “And how’s that going to help, if I gets bit and contracts ’ydrophobia?” I asks him; but he don’t shift his opinion.’

‘How does this get us any further?’ asked Gavin. The postman looked surprised. He was a moon-faced, pop- eyed youth who had no difficulty in expressing this reaction.

‘I’m a-telling you,’ he said. ‘I discusses the problem with Effie and she says as how a dog o’ that sort could do with a dose of poison. I reckon she must have tried it on to help me out, but somewhere it misfired and got her instead o’ the dog.’

Gavin made a note, thanked him gravely, said he would look into the matter and went back to the Superintendent.

‘Would you know where this ferocious dog hangs out?’ he asked lightly. The Superintendent grinned.

‘That will be Mrs Hitchcock’s Marmaduke,’ he said. ‘Harmless as a kitten. Probably thinks he is one. I shouldn’t waste your time there, Mr Gavin.’

But Gavin was thorough, in spite of his secret amusement when he thought over the conversation with the postman. He obtained Mrs Hitchcock’s address and went along immediately after tea.

The door was opened by a wispy woman who had an intelligent face. She was accompanied by an extremely large dog which immediately put its forepaws on Gavin’s shoulders and gave his face an ecstatic and all-embracing lick.

‘I don’t really want to buy anything just at present,’ said the woman. The dog got down and regarded Gavin with sentimental affection.

‘I am a police officer, madam,’ said Gavin, putting a hand on the dog’s head. ‘I have been apprised of the fact that your dog is dangerous.’

‘What, Marmaduke? (We call him that after that adorable dog in the newspaper). Marmaduke dangerous! He’s a simple love! Simple-minded, too!’

‘Yes,’ said Gavin. ‘May I come in?’

‘Well,’ said the woman doubtfully, ‘I suppose so, if you really want to. My husband doesn’t like me to admit strangers. The last one was the electricity. Only, he wasn’t, you see. The gas men you can be pretty sure of, because of the uniform, but the electricity only seem to carry those awfully thick notebooks. Still, if Marmaduke likes you, it will be all right, I suppose. On guard,’ she added, addressing the dog. The dog careered up the stairs and came down again in a slither on his stomach. Mrs Hitchcock led the way into the drawing-room. Several half- finished paintings lay about, propped against bookcases and armchairs, and a half-dressed doll was lounging on the settee. Mrs Hitchcock cleared a space. Gavin produced his credentials, as a matter of form. Mrs Hitchcock waved them aside.

‘Have you had tea?’ she asked. ‘Oh, you have? That’s a good thing, because we never have it, but, of course, I would have got you some if you’d wanted it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Gavin, offering her a cigarette, ‘I came to ask whether anybody had ever threatened, or attempted to poison, your dog.’

‘What, Marmaduke?’ repeated the lady. The dog ambled up to Gavin and lay down on his feet. Gavin extricated his members. ‘Poison him?’ pursued Mrs Hitchcock. ‘But he’s the dearest love in the world! Who on earth would want to harm him?’

The dog raised a paw and whacked it down on her lap.

‘The postman seems afraid of him,’ said Gavin. The dog snorted, stretched himself on the carpet and filled the air with the sound of canine, contented sleep. Gavin gave up his mission, took his leave and went back to the Superintendent.

‘Nobody tried to poison him,’ he said. ‘The dog’s mentally afflicted. A little child could feed him prussic acid and the dog would swallow it with kisses. Norfolk it is, for me, I’m afraid. You might wish me luck. I’ll be back as soon as there’s news — if any.’

‘Half a minute, Mr Gavin,’ said the Superintendent. ‘You’ve rung a bell in my mind. May be nothing in it at all, but you mentioned poison and a dog, and that brings something back to me. That second girl, Mabel, kept a dog, and when I called to see the poor mother, dashed if I could make out whether she was crying more for her daughter or for the tyke.’