Them coming!
They turned out to be one youngish man. There had been a Keep Fit class in the studio that afternoon, so Mrs Bracken didn’t answer the door-bell when it rang. Nor did Fern. She had put a
head-square on, but her curlers still bulged and peeped from under it. The class was over and people were arriving and departing continuously, but when Fern heard a man’s voice asking for
Miss Bracken she knew who it was, and went to meet him. She asked him to wait in the kitchen. ‘I’ll fetch the dog,’ she said and ran very quietly and quickly up to her bedroom:
with any luck, her mother would be still snoring her ‘short afternoon rest’ away.
The dog cringed when he saw the Inspector, as he called himself. That did not seem to matter, however; the trouble was that he kept asking questions that Fern couldn’t answer properly. Who
did the dog belong to? If she, Fern, liked him, why couldn’t he stay with her? What did Fern think was wrong with him anyway? He seemed all right – a bit on the thin side, but if he was
a stray . . . At this moment, Mrs Bracken entered the kitchen. She had an expression that Fern knew and hated. There was no more problem about answering questions.
‘My mother wouldn’t give him any food, you see. So he hardly gets anything, except some of mine. It isn’t enough for either of us.’
‘And what, may I ask, are you doing here?’
‘He’s an Inspector about cruelty to animals.’
‘The R.S.P.C.A., madam.’
Mrs Bracken’s face went blank.
‘I don’t remember asking you to come.’
‘No, madam, it was your daughter.’
Mrs Bracken turned her impassive gaze towards Fern: then she shut the door. ‘Oh yes?’ she said, and sat down in her mealtime chair.
‘The situation is perfectly simple, madam,’ said the young Inspector, but having said this, he could think of nothing more.
‘The dog’s a stray,’ said Mrs Bracken. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
‘I understand that your daughter is quite—’
‘It’s nothing to do with her, either. I’ve told you – the dog just walked in here, dirty thing, and has hung about ever since.
I
haven’t given him the
slightest encouragement.’
‘It’s my fault. I gave him a lot of encouragement. I liked him.’
‘No collar or nothing?’ suggested the Inspector, hopelessly.
‘Nothing at all!’ Mrs Bracken’s triumph suggested that dogs commonly wore or had hung about them innumerable clues to identity.
‘You haven’t tried the local police station?’
‘Why ever should I do that?’
‘The point is that
she
won’t give him food at
all
. Don’t you see? He gets no food unless I give him some of mine, and that only means we’re both hungry.
You’ll have to take him with you!’
There was a short silence. The whole business had something funny about it, the Inspector thought, but he hadn’t got all day. He took the collar out of his pocket and moved over to the dog
and the little girl; the dog cringed again. The girl bent down and stroked his head, and he kept still while the collar was fastened. He looked to the Inspector very like one of the innumerable
dogs – mongrel – whom owners get tired of the moment it has stopped being a puppy: they were everywhere these days, including motorways. What some people would do to their animals beat
him, it really did.
When he straightened up with the dog on the lead, the little girl asked him: ‘What will you do with him, now you’ve got him?’
‘Well – we shall try and find his owner – wait a bit to see whether anyone comes for him –’
‘And if they don’t come?’
The Inspector looked at her. He had thought her ridiculous when he first saw her, but she seemed to have changed. ‘We’ll try and find him a nice new home,’ he said. He was
afraid she wouldn’t leave it here, and she didn’t.
‘And if you can’t?’
‘Oh – we’ll find someone – don’t worry,’ he said. As usual, when he told people lies, he looked her
They turned out to be one youngish man. There had been a Keep Fit class in the studio that afternoon, so Mrs Bracken didn’t answer the door-bell when it rang. Nor did Fern. She had put a
head-square on, but her curlers still bulged and peeped from under it. The class was over and people were arriving and departing continuously, but when Fern heard a man’s voice asking for
Miss Bracken she knew who it was, and went to meet him. She asked him to wait in the kitchen. ‘I’ll fetch the dog,’ she said and ran very quietly and quickly up to her bedroom:
with any luck, her mother would be still snoring her ‘short afternoon rest’ away.
The dog cringed when he saw the Inspector, as he called himself. That did not seem to matter, however; the trouble was that he kept asking questions that Fern couldn’t answer properly. Who
did the dog belong to? If she, Fern, liked him, why couldn’t he stay with her? What did Fern think was wrong with him anyway? He seemed all right – a bit on the thin side, but if he was
a stray . . . At this moment, Mrs Bracken entered the kitchen. She had an expression that Fern knew and hated. There was no more problem about answering questions.
‘My mother wouldn’t give him any food, you see. So he hardly gets anything, except some of mine. It isn’t enough for either of us.’
‘And what, may I ask, are you doing here?’
‘He’s an Inspector about cruelty to animals.’
‘The R.S.P.C.A., madam.’
Mrs Bracken’s face went blank.
‘I don’t remember asking you to come.’
‘No, madam, it was your daughter.’
Mrs Bracken turned her impassive gaze towards Fern: then she shut the door. ‘Oh yes?’ she said, and sat down in her mealtime chair.
‘The situation is perfectly simple, madam,’ said the young Inspector, but having said this, he could think of nothing more.
‘The dog’s a stray,’ said Mrs Bracken. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
‘I understand that your daughter is quite—’
‘It’s nothing to do with her, either. I’ve told you – the dog just walked in here, dirty thing, and has hung about ever since.
I
haven’t given him the
slightest encouragement.’
‘It’s my fault. I gave him a lot of encouragement. I liked him.’
‘No collar or nothing?’ suggested the Inspector, hopelessly.
‘Nothing at all!’ Mrs Bracken’s triumph suggested that dogs commonly wore or had hung about them innumerable clues to identity.
‘You haven’t tried the local police station?’
‘Why ever should I do that?’
‘The point is that
she
won’t give him food at
all
. Don’t you see? He gets no food unless I give him some of mine, and that only means we’re both hungry.
You’ll have to take him with you!’
There was a short silence. The whole business had something funny about it, the Inspector thought, but he hadn’t got all day. He took the collar out of his pocket and moved over to the dog
and the little girl; the dog cringed again. The girl bent down and stroked his head, and he kept still while the collar was fastened. He looked to the Inspector very like one of the innumerable
dogs – mongrel – whom owners get tired of the moment it has stopped being a puppy: they were everywhere these days, including motorways. What some people would do to their animals beat
him, it really did.
When he straightened up with the dog on the lead, the little girl asked him: ‘What will you do with him, now you’ve got him?’
‘Well – we shall try and find his owner – wait a bit to see whether anyone comes for him –’
‘And if they don’t come?’
The Inspector looked at her. He had thought her ridiculous when he first saw her, but she seemed to have changed. ‘We’ll try and find him a nice new home,’ he said. He was
afraid she wouldn’t leave it here, and she didn’t.
‘And if you can’t?’
‘Oh – we’ll find someone – don’t worry,’ he said. As usual, when he told people lies, he looked her
Similar Books
