A Night in the Lonesome October

October 11

A brisk morning. After I made my rounds I went outside. I could discover nothing untoward, so I set off in the direction of the Good Doctor's place. As I was trotting along the road, however, I heard a familiar voice from a small grove to my right:

«That, sir, is the same dog,» it said.

«How can you be sure?» came the response.

«I noted the markings, and his are identical. Also, he has the same limp in his left foreleg, the same shredded right ear… .»

… Old war injuries, disagreement with a mindless guy in the West Indies, long ago… .

It was the Great Detective and his companion who had spoken, of course.

«Here's a good fellow,» he said. «Good dog. Good dog.»

I remembered my act of the previous evening, wagged my tail, and tried to look friendly.

«Good dog,» he repeated. «Show us where you live. Take us home.»

He patted my head as he said it, his hands being much warmer than the last friendly fellow's I'd met.

«Home. Go home now.»

Thinking of Graymalk in the well, I led them to Morris and MacCab's place. I waited with them on the porch till I heard footsteps approaching inside in response to their knocking. Then I withdrew and cut a straight line from there to the Count's crypt. The results were interesting; and even more so when I ran in a line from there to the Good Doctor's.

I did several more thereafter, confirming my results.