“I didn’t know you cared. But next time would you mind at least knocking? Gads, look at my hair―”
“Yes, yes,” said Ellery. “Now Laurel, I want you to project yourself back to the morning when you and your father stood outside your front door and looked at the body of the dead dog. Do you remember that morning?”
“I think so,” said Laurel steadily.
“Can you see that dog right now?”
“Every hair of him.”
“Hold on to him!” Ellery yanked her by the arm and she squealed, grabbing at the front of her robe. She found herself staring down at her bed. Upon it, open to an illustration in color of a springer spaniel, lay a large book. “Was he a dog like this?”
“N-no...”
“Go through the book page by page. When you come to Henderson’s pooch, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, indicate same in an unmistakable manner.”
Laurel looked at him suspiciously. It was too early in the morning for him to have killed a bottle, and he was shaved and pressed, so it wasn’t the tag end of a large night. Unless...
“Ellery!” she screamed. “You’ve found out something!”