“What kind of dog was it?”
“Some sort of hunting dog, I think.”
“Was there a license tag on his collar?”
“I don’t remember seeing any.”
“An anti-rabies tag?”
“I saw no tag except the paper one with Dad’s name on it.”
“Anything special about the dog collar?”
“It couldn’t have cost more than seventy-five cents.”
“Just a collar.” Ellery dragged over a chartreuse latticed blond chair and straddled it. “Go on, Laurel.”
“Simeon and Ichiro, our houseman, carried him up to his bedroom while I ran for the brandy and Mrs. Monk, our housekeeper, phoned the doctor. He lives on Castilian Drive and he was over in a few minutes. Daddy didn’t die ― that time.”