“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded.
“Summers doesn’t want me until next week,” I said cheerfully. “Any news of my dog?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There was a wolfhound at the Eastern Dog Hospital with a bang on his dome, but he took it on the lam before anyone could take care of him. Maybe that was your dog.”
“Maybe it was,” I said. “Now, will you have a talk with Bogle about that? It looks like I’m not the only guy who can tell stories.”
Clancy’s face became grim. “I’ll talk to him,” he said sourly.
“And Clancy, if you can keep him on ice for a week, you’ll be doing me a favour.”
“I will, will I?” he looked at me hard. “What are you up to?”
“Never mind that,” I said. “You ask Summers, he’ll tell you. But Bogle’s got the wrong idea and he’ll be better off out of the way. Do what you can for me, will you? I’ll give you a good write-up if I handle the story.”
“That reminds me,” Clancy said, snapping his thick fingers. “Maddox ‘phoned through a couple of hours back. He wanted you to go around to his office right away.”
This startled me. “Maddox?” I repeated. “Wants to see me?”