James shook his head. “Must be an important yellow dog to have the police hunting for him.”
“He’s important to me,” growled the officer. “Jist a dirty stray, so he is.”
“But why are you hunting for a stray dog, officer?”
“Because he’s a dangerous dog. I threw a rock at him, tryin’ to chase him off me beat, and the dirty cur picked up the rock and brought it back to me.”
“A retriever, eh?”
“I dunno his breed.”
“But that doesn’t make him dangerous.”
“Then I took a kick at him and he bit me, so he did. He tore the leg of me pants and I had to go home and change. I didn’t no more than get back on me beat, when there he was, probably lookin’ for another chance at me legs. But I took after him and I was sure he ran in here.”
“Well, I’m sure he never did,” said the landlady. “But we’ll look in the other halls.”
James went back in the room and found the dog sitting in the middle of the floor, one ear cocked up, his brown eyes fixed on James, his tongue hanging out, as if he had heard all of the conversation and was laughing at the policeman.