Part 30 (1/2)

Her worried frown gave way to a smile of positive inspiration. The Master's own darkling face cleared.

”Good!” he approved. ”I think that cinches it. Marie's been with us for years. Her word is certainly as good as a Boche farmhand's. Even Maclay's 'judicial temperament' will have to admit that. Send her in here, won't you?”

When the maid appeared at the door of the study a minute later, the Master opened the examination with the solemn air of a legal veteran.

”You are the first person down here in the mornings, aren't you, Marie?” he began.

”Why, yes, sir,” replied the wondering maid. ”Yes, always, except when you get up early to go fis.h.i.+ng or when----”

”What time do you get down here in the mornings,” pursued the Master.

”Along about six o'clock, sir, mostly,” said the maid, bridling a bit as if scenting a criticism of her work-hours.

”Not earlier than six?” asked the Master.

”No, sir,” said Marie, uncomfortably. ”Of course, if that's not early enough, I suppose I could----”

”It's quite early enough,” vouchsafed the Master. ”There is no complaint about your hours. You always let Lad out as soon as you come into the music room?”

”Yes, sir,” she answered, ”as soon as I get downstairs. Those were the orders, you remember.”

The Master breathed a silent sigh of relief. The maid did not get downstairs until six. The dog, then, could not get out of the house until that hour. If Schwartz had seen any dog in the Romaine barnyard at daybreak, it a.s.suredly was not Lad. Yet, racking his brain, the Master could not recall any other dog in the vicinity that bore even the faintest semblance to his giant collie. And he fell to recalling--from his happy memories of ”_Bob, Son of Battle_”--that ”Killers” often travel many miles from home to sate their mania for sheep-slaying.

In any event, it was no concern of his if some distant collie, drawn to the slaughter by the queer ”sixth” collie-sense, was killing Romaine's new flock of sheep. Lad was cleared. The maid's very evidently true testimony settled that point.

”Yes, sir,” rambled on Marie, beginning to take a faint interest in the examination now that it turned upon Lad whom she loved. ”Yes, sir, Laddie always comes out from under his piano the minute he hears my step in the hall outside. And he always comes right up to me and wags that big plume of a tail of his, and falls into step alongside of me and walks over to the front door, right beside me all the way. He knows as much as many a human, that dog does, sir.”

Encouraged by the Master's approving nod, the maid ventured to enlarge still further upon the theme.

”It always seems as if he was welcoming me downstairs, like,” she resumed, ”and glad to see me. I've really missed him quite bad this past few mornings.” The approving look on the Master's face gave way to a glare of utter blankness.

”This past few mornings?” he repeated, blitheringly. ”What do you mean?”

”Why,” she returned, fl.u.s.tered afresh by the quick change in her interlocutor's manner. ”Ever since those French windows are left open for the night--same as they always are when the hot weather starts in, you know, sir. Since then, Laddie don't wait for me to let him out. When he wakes up he just goes out himself. He used to do that last year, too, sir. He----”

”Thanks,” muttered the Master, dizzily. ”That's all. Thanks.”

Left alone, he sat slumped low in his chair, trying to think. He was as calmly convinced as ever of his dog's innocence, but he had staked everything on Marie's court testimony. And, now, that testimony was rendered worse than worthless.

Crankily he cursed his own fresh-air mania which had decreed that the long windows on the ground floor be left open on summer nights. With Lad on duty, the house was as safe from successful burglary in spite of these open windows, as if guarded by a squad of special policemen. And the night-air, sweeping through, kept it pleasantly cool against the next day's heat. For this same coolness, a heavy price was now due.

Presently the daze of disappointment pa.s.sed leaving the Master pulsing with a wholesome fighting-anger. Rapidly he revised his defense and, with the Mistress' far cleverer aid, made ready for the afternoon's ordeal. He scouted Maclay's suggestion of hiring counsel and vowed to handle the defense himself. Carefully he and his wife went over their proposed line of action.

Peace Justice Maclay's court was held daily in a rambling room on an upper floor of the village's Odd Fellows' Hall. The proceedings there were generally marked by shrewd sanity rather than by any effort at formalism. Maclay, himself, sat at a battered little desk at the room's far end; his clerk using a corner of the same desk for the scribbling of his sketchy notes.

In front of the desk was a rather long deal table with kitchen chairs around it. Here, plaintiffs and defendants and prisoners and witnesses and lawyers were wont to sit, with no order of precedent or of other formality. Several other chairs were ranged irregularly along the wall to accommodate any overflow of the table's occupants.

Promptly at three o'clock that afternoon, the Mistress and the Master entered the courtroom. Close at the Mistress' side--though held by no leash--paced Lad. Maclay and Romaine and Schwartz were already on hand. So were the clerk and the constable and one or two idle spectators. At a corner of the room, wrapped in burlap, were huddled the bodies of the two slain sheep.

Lad caught the scent of the victims the instant he set foot in the room, and he sniffed vibrantly once or twice. t.i.tus Romaine, his eyes fixed scowlingly on the dog, noted this, and he nudged Schwartz in the ribs to call the German's attention to it.

Lad turned aside in fastidious disgust from the b.u.mpy burlap bundle. Seeing the Judge and recognizing him as an old acquaintance, the collie wagged his plumed tail in gravely friendly greeting and stepped forward for a pat on the head.