“Well, she does.” The truth was, Keats’s information about Delia Priam and the rat poison had given him a bad time. “But let’s stick to Wallace for the moment. Mac, what do you know about him?”
“Not a thing.”
“How long has he been working for your stepfather?”
“About a year. They come and go. Roger’s had a dozen stooges in the last fifteen years. Wallace is just the latest.”
“Well, you keep your eye on him. And Laurel―”
“On Delia,” said Macgowan sarcastically.
“Laurel on everything. Keep giving me reports. Anything out of the ordinary. This case may prove to be a series of excavations, with the truth at the bottom level. Dig in.”
“I could go back to the beginning,” mumbled Laurel, “and try to trace the dead dog...”
“Oh, you don’t know about that, do you?” Ellery turned to the writing desk again.
“About the dog?”