“I just guess,” said the woman cheerfully, “I don’t know.”
“What color was he?”
“Well, now, sort of brown and white. No, black. Come to think of it, not really white, neither. More creamy, like.”
“More creamy, like. Thank you,” said Ellery. And he got into his car and moved fifty feet, just far enough to be out of his informant’s range.
After thinking for a few minutes, he drove off again.
He cut through Pass and Olive, past the Warner Brothers studio, into Barham Boulevard to the Freeway. Emerging through the North Highland exit into Hollywood, he found a parking space on McCadden Place and hurried around the corner to the Plover Bookshop.
It was still closed.
He could not help feeling that this was inconsiderate of the Plover Bookshop. Wandering up Hollywood Boulevard disconsolately, he found himself opposite Coffee Dan’s. This reminded him vaguely of his stomach, and he crossed over and went in for breakfast. Someone had left a newspaper on the counter and as he ate he read it conscientiously. When he paid his check, the cashier said, “What’s the news from Korea this morning?” and he had to answer stupidly, “Just about the same,” because he could not remember a word he had read.
Plover was open!
He ran in and seized the arm of a clerk. “Quick,” he said fiercely. “A book on dogs.”