The prophecy proved true. Zitts opened his eyes with a start, rose an inch in the chair and winked three times at the Venusian girl. Instantly the girl sprang to the door on the right and swung it open, and a four-legged creature, with its tongue lolling out, waddled into the room and squatted on its haunches.
"See!" Zoo cried in delight. "His plans always begin with Pupsie. The ancients called him a bloodhound. His species is almost extinct, but he's smart and he claims his ancestors pursued criminals thousands of years ago."
"Claims?" the blonde woman exclaimed, aghast. "You mean, that four-legged creature can talk?"
"Whaddya think?" said Pupsie. "Living generation after generation around windbags who did nothing but talk, wasn't it to be expected that dogs would eventually evolve to that stage themselves? Not that it is an improvement, mind you. Dogs had to learn in self-defense. Even back in the twentieth century hundreds of people everyday were asking questions of animals. 'Ain't oo the pretty little thing?' 'Does oo want a tiss, oo lovey dovey?' The first words my ancestors learned to speak in answer to such questions were 'Go to hell!' The meaning of the phrase is lost in our modern language, possibly because my ancestors overworked it, using it every time a human opened his mouth to ask a question of an animal, until at length it had no meaning whatever."
"And you catch criminals?"
"Catch anything," said Pupsie, "that I can smell, if it deserves catching."
"Quiet!" Zitts roared, displaying his customary impatience when another usurped the floor. "Zoo! Fetch forth the Longsnozzle. And while you're at it you can bracket this case as 'The Longsnozzle Event.' Mark that word 'Event!' I have a suspicion this is an insignificant case with not more than eight or ten murders involved."
"Eight or ten murders!" The blonde woman became deathly pale. "You mean, there is more than one murder?"