My idea was to take my hat hound upstairs to my room, give him some refreshment, and phone the ASPCA to send for him. But there was no sense in passing up such an opportunity for a little buzz at Wolfe, so after letting us in and leaving my hat and the raincoat on the rack in the hall, I proceeded to the door to the office and entered.
“Where the devil have you been?” Wolfe asked grumpily. “We were going over some lists at six o’clock, and it’s a quarter to seven.”
He was in his oversized chair behind his desk with a book, and his eyes hadn’t left the page to spare me a glance. I answered him. “Taking that damn raincoat. Only I didn’t deliver it, because—”
“What’s that?” he snapped. He was glaring at my companion.
“A dog.”
“I see it is. I’m in no temper for buffoonery. Get it out of here.”
“Yes, sir, right away. I can keep him in my room most of the time, but of course he’ll have to come downstairs and through the hall when I take him out. He’s a hat hound. There is a sort of a problem. His name is Nero, which, as you know, means ‘black,’ and of course I’ll have to change it. Ebony would do, or Jet, or Inky, or—”
“Bah. Flummery!”
“No, sir. I get pretty darned lonesome around here, especially during the four hours a day you’re up in the plant rooms. You have your orchids, and Fritz has his turtle, and Theodore has his parakeets up in the potting room, and why shouldn’t I have a dog? I admit I’ll have to change his name, though he is registered as Champion Nero Charcoal of Bantyscoot. I have suggested...”
I went on talking only because I had to. It was a fizzle. I had expected to induce a major outburst, even possibly something as frantic as Wolfe leaving his chair to evict the beast himself, and there he was gazing at Nero with an expression I had never seen him aim at any human, including me. I went on talking, forcing it.