“Where did you come from, dog?” demanded James. “I don’t think I have ever seen you before.”
The dog held up one wet paw, and James shook hands with him solemnly. Came the sound of a heavy voice down-stairs, and the dog shot past James and went under the bed. The voice was audible now, and James could distinguish the high-pitched voice of the landlady, raised in protest.
“But I tell ye I seen him come in here, ma’am,” declared the heavy voice. “A kind of a yaller one, he was.”
“But no one in this house owns a dog,” protested the landlady. “We don’t allow dogs in here.”
“Don’t ye? And have ye the rules printed in dog language, so that the dogs would know it, ma’am? Belike he’s in one of the halls, tryin’ to hide.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken, officer. But I’ll go with you, if you care to make a search of the halls.”
“I’ll do that, ma’am.”
James closed his door, leaving only a crack wide enough for him to see the landlady, followed by a big burly policeman, come to the head of the stairs. They came past his door, and he heard them farther down the hall. The dog was still under the bed, and as they came back James stepped into the hall.
“We are looking for a yellow dog, Mr. Legg,” explained the landlady. “You haven’t seen one, have you?”
“Sort of yaller and red,” supplemented the officer.