“Well, I’ll tell you.”
I went and sat at my desk and did so. Nero, the four-legged one, came and lay at my feet with his nose just not touching the toe of my shoe. I reported the whole event, with as much detail as if I had been reporting a vital operation in a major case, and, when I had finished, Wolfe was of course quite aware that my presentation of Nero as a permanent addition to the staff had been a plant. Ordinarily he would have made his opinion of my performance clear, but this time he skipped it, and it was easy to see why. The idea of having a dog that he could blame on me had got in and stuck.
When I came to the end and stopped there was a moment’s silence, and then he said, “Jet would be an acceptable name for that dog.”
“Yeah.” I swiveled and reached for the phone. “I’ll call the ASPCA to come for him.”
“No.” He was emphatic.
“Why not?”
“Because there is a better alternative. Call someone you know in the Police Department — anyone. Give him the number on the dog’s tag, and ask him to find out who the owner is. Then you can inform the owner directly.”
He was playing for time. It could happen that the owner was dead or in jail or didn’t want the dog back, and if so Wolfe could take the position that I had committed myself by bringing the dog home in a taxi and that it would be dishonorable to renege. However, I didn’t want to argue, so I phoned a precinct sergeant who I knew was disposed to do me small favors. He took Nero’s number and said it might take a while at that time of day, and he would call me back. As I hung up, Fritz entered to announce dinner.
The squabs with that sauce were absolutely edible, as they always are, but other phenomena in the next couple of hours were not so pleasing. The table talk in the dining room was mostly one-sided and mostly about dogs. Wolfe kept it on a high level — no maudlin sentiment. He maintained that the basenji was the oldest breed on earth, having originated in Central Africa around 5000 B.C., whereas there was no trace of the Afghan hound earlier than around 4000 B.C. To me all it proved was that he had read a book I hadn’t noticed him with.
Nero ate in the kitchen with Fritz and made a hit. Wolfe had told Fritz to call him Jet. When Fritz brought in the salad he announced that Jet had wonderful manners and was very smart.