Detective Tenney raised an eyebrow, stroking his mustache at the dramatic change in the maid's demeanor.
"So the dog came to your rescue, did it?"
Mollie nodded vigorously. "Jumped right at them, wouldn't let 'em touch me—only one had a knife, and I think poor Major got hurt."
Tenney waved his hand. "Yes, well, rest assured I will be checking into that. Let's go back to the safe, Mollie; what can you tell me about it?"
The curly-headed maid took a shaky gulp before speaking. "I don't know much about it, sir. I knew it was there and all, and that there must be jewels inside—"
"Never mind what was in it," Tenney grumbled. "We'll get that information later. But how, if the family wanted to keep it confidential, did a common kitchen maid find out where it was? How long have you known about it?"
Mollie trembled all over; she knew she would be spelling trouble for the other servants if she started naming names.
"I'm always down in the kitchens, sir," she explained. "Near on a year ago, there were a grand gala at the theater, and Lady Dalton wanted to wear her jewels. I happened to see—someone—go into the larder and come out with the necklace and solitaires. That's how I found out."
Tenney's brow slowly lowered itself over his eyes. "A year, eh?" He repeated. "And in all that time, you never once thought of taking a crack for yourself? Seeing as you've admitted to being completely alone down here quite a lot."
Mollie's face flushed. "No, sir!" She cried. "I'm in the kitchens, I would never in all my days... That wall is none o' my business—"
Tenney waved his hand. "Now, now, no need to get all worked up all of a sudden." He sighed and rubbed his mustache. He glanced at the cadet, who finished writing and nodded. "Thank you, Miss Dempsey; that will be all."
"But I—" Mollie ceased her protest as the cadet helped her to her feet and sent her out of the room.
When she was gone, the fresh-faced lad regarded the Inspector quizzically.
"You don't actually believe she did it, do you?"
Tenney shook his head. Beckoning the cadet over to the door, he pointed to the flagstones in front of it. Clearly marked in mud was a print from a very large boot. "She was telling the truth about at least one intruder," he murmured.
"And look, sir," the cadet pointed further out the door. The large prints of a dog stood out clearly in the moonlight.
Tenney stroked his chin. "So there was very likely a dog here." He nodded to the cadet. "Let's pay a visit to the neighbor and see about that dog."
<><><><>
They knocked twice before anyone answered.
"What's all this, then?" Said a man in a serving uniform.
"Are you the butler for the Buxton's?" Asked Tenney.
"And 'oo might you be?" The man squinted and held the lamp closer to their faces.
Tenney pulled out his badge. "Detective Inspector Tenney, I'm investigating a robbery that happened down the road—"
"Oh, the Daltons, is it?" The man asked immediately. "Heard a commotion over there; you don't think anyone here could have done it?"
Tenney shook his head. "Not at all; the maid did mention that there was a dog—a black elkhound belonging to Mr. Buxton—present at the scene, and it was wounded in a scuffle."
The butler's bushy eyebrows shot up into his receding hairline. "You don't mean Major, do you? I don't reckon he's escaped." He stepped out of the door and began making his way to the side of the house. "Follow me, sirs."
Tenney and the cadet officer followed. Around at the back was a spacious kennel, complete with its own roof. Tenney could make out the still, sleeping forms of three black hounds curled up in the confines of a metal gate.
"Now then," said the detective. "How do we know which one of them is named Major?"
Instantly, one of the hounds picked up its head. Tenney noted the distinguishing mark on the dog's face: a silver streak running over the top of its head. The butler grinned. "There 'e is! Safe as y'please."
Tenney regarded the dog dubiously. "I'll be the judge of that," he muttered.
At the detective's behest, the butler called Major over for inspection. The fur carried no hint of any dirt or dampness; it was soft and dry, feeling very warm and clean, as if someone had bathed the dogs before sending them to bed.
Tenney bid the butler good evening and stalked out to the road again. The visit had only left him with more questions rather than confirmation of the answers he sought.
Why would the maid tell the truth about the intruders and then lie about the dog? If the dog had not intervened, how had the maid actually escaped the miscreants?
"Inspector?" Cadet Frank Morgan's voice interrupted his puzzle.
Tenney blinked. "What is it?" He looked up.
Morgan faced away from him, staring at something on the road. The detective followed his gaze. In the pale, sand-covered thoroughfare under the bright moonlight, a series of dark paw-prints marked a punctuated trail. They seemed to be headed toward the beach, and when Tenney squinted closely in the light of his electric torch, he could clearly distinguish the red-brown color. Bloody paw-prints; just what you would expect on the trail of a wounded hound. "Well, now," muttered the detective, following the trail, "what have we here?"
The cadet and the detective followed the prints down toward the strand. They were darker and thicker in the sand, with heavy furrows, as if the animal had stumbled, and yet continued to drag itself...
Tenney reached the end of the paw-prints and stopped. They were only halfway down the beach. There wasn't another mark in the sand for several yards; if the dog hadn't sprouted wings and flown away, then
