“That reminds me,” Dow said, “I’ve forgotten to give you Jock’s parting message. He said to tell Bill to remember Cannae. You happen to know about Haseltine and Cannae, Bill?” He gave Leonidas no chance to answer. “After about two hundred and twenty-five pages of pure and unadulterated buffeting by every fate known to man, Haseltine thinks of Cannae.”
“M’yes,” Leonidas said. “M’yes, indeed. Cannae. That historic battle between the Romans and the Carthaginians, fought in Apulia in the year 216 B. C., in which the small, weak army of Hannibal cut the incomparable forces of eighty-five thousand proud Roman legionaries to pieces—”
“To shreds,” Leslie said.
“To shreds. In that,” Leonidas continued, “by means of an ingenious strategical concentration, it caught the enemy from the flank with cavalry, and surrounded him. Clausewitz and Schlieffen, of the Prussian General Staff, elaborated the idea of Cannae into a general theoretical doctrine, and then compressed the doctrine into an exact strategical system. That, in brief, is Cannae.”
“Well, you’ve certainly read Haseltine!” Dow said. “Somehow, I didn’t expect that of a Meredith man. Well, Jock said I was to remind you.”
Leonidas nodded slowly.
“And definitely,” he said, “I think it’s time that Cannae was recalled to me. M’yes. Definitely. Cassie, phone headquarters and say that your car has been stolen, you don’t know when, but it’s gone, and will someone be good enough to find it and return it to you here. That will take care of that. Cuff—”
“Yeah, Bill, we better get going,” Cuff said. “We better go after her right away.”
Leonidas surveyed Cuff thoughtfully through his pince-nez.
His own plans had not been entirely formulated, although the general line of indicated action was clear in his mind.
First of all, a vehicle was required, so Cassie’s car must be returned. He knew that it would be, without hesitation or question, once the police learned that it was hers. The Dalton police, on the whole, were Cassie’s willing if somewhat puzzled slaves. They enjoyed doing things for the colonel’s sister, and they had done much funnier things than return a supposedly stolen car to her.
After the car was returned, Leonidas intended to seek out the officer who had accompanied Miss Chard from Water Street, and from him discover where Miss Chard had gone. Cassie could wangle that.
Most important of all, Miss Chard had to be found. If she had remained in Dalton this long, the chances appeared excellent that she would continue to remain in Dalton. It was imperative, at this point, that she be found and compelled to answer several vital questions.
And Leonidas intended that she should.
But he had not expected Cuff’s mind to react along similar lines. Cuff had only just become aware of the identity of the murdered woman. It did not seem remotely possible that he could have grasped the part Miss Chard played, or assimilated the necessity for finding her. Certainly, Cuff wouldn’t know where Miss Chard was.
“Er—where?” Leonidas asked. “Where do you suggest we go, Cuff?”
“Halfway up Arthur,” Cuff struggled into his yellow polo coat. “That’s where she is. Let’s get going.”
CHAPTER 7
“CUFF,” Cassie said severely, “you’re letting yourself get carried away! Whoever Arthur is, I’m sure Miss Chard—really, that’s practically indecent. Arthur who?”
“Arthur Street,” Cuff said.
“One of the Daltonville Streets?” Cassie said. “Why, I never knew Miss Chard even knew any of the Daltonville Streets!”
“Not Daltonville. Upper Falls,” Cuff said.
Cassie clucked her tongue.
“Halfway up Arthur! I never heard of such a thing!”
“You don’t know them streets like I do,” Cuff returned. “Look, Mrs. Price. Here’s Florence Street. See?” he drew a line in the air with his finger. “You go down Water Street off Upper Falls Square, like this, and here’s Florence. And off Florence is Kitty’s Alley, like this. And then next there’s Arthur Street, see? Arthur’s off Florence, right about here. And halfway up Arthur is here. And that’s where she is.”
“I’m glad, cousin,” Dow said, “to note a faint flush in your cheeks. I hope you’re squelched. Go on, Cuff. Arthur’s off Florence, and Florence is where Chard and I played tag.”
Cuff nodded.
“Yeah. I been thinking and thinking, see, and when you said Florence, something begun to click. Halfway up Arthur is the garage. Only it’s more of an old livery stable, like. And that’s the place I been trying to think of, all along.”
“You mean, Miss Chard is in a stable, like?” Cassie demanded.
Cuff looked at her wonderingly.
“Who?”
“Oh, dear!” Cassie said. “Oh, dear me! Cuff, what about the stable? Who is in the stable? I’m beginning to think you’re out of your mind! What about your old stable halfway up Arthur? You said she was there. Who?”
“See, Mrs. Price,” Cuff said patiently, “that’s where he keeps her—”
“Who, Miss Chard? Who keeps Miss Chard in a stable?” Cassie said. “It’s absurd. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe Miss Chard was ever kept in a stable by anyone, ever. I don’t think she ever set foot in a stable!”
Cuff sighed.
“See, Mrs. Price. See here. You get it about Arthur, don’t you? And on Arthur, halfway up, there’s this garage, like. And there’s where he keeps her. The truck—look, Bill, you get it, don’t you?”
“I think,” Leonidas said, “that I begin to. M’yes. Of course. Halfway up Arthur Street in Dalton Upper Falls is a former livery stable now used as a garage, and that is where Pig Eyes keeps his truck.”
“Yeah, sure!” Cuff said. “That’s it. And we should ought to get going and see about her. On account Pig Eyes might take her—”
“Her!” Cassie said with deep scorn. “Her! Whoever heard of anyone referring to a truck as her/”
Cuff scratched the side of his nose.
“Well, gee,” he said, “I always do. I don’t think I never heard nobody call a truck him. Only her. Like somebody says where’s your car, and you say you’ll get her. Like boats. Her.”
“I’ll
