“Why… it seems obvious to me. Have the dog’s body dissected and analyzed at once. Even Chief Gentry agreed with me that if it were proven my creamed chicken was poisoned he would feel that was sufficient evidence for ordering an autopsy on John.”

“You say the dog is already buried?”

“Oh, yes. Anita saw to that. She had Charles remove it at once and take it out to bury it on the grounds. Last night while the detectives were there, they asked Charles where the grave was, and he refused to tell them after Anita ordered him not to. I really think the detectives would have dug it up for examination if they’d known where to find it, but I guess they felt they had no authority to force him to tell them.”

“Neither have I,” said Shayne bluntly. “Without the dog’s body, I don’t see what I can do.”

“Find it,” she shot at him grimly.

Shayne shrugged. “It may be difficult… particularly if the chauffeur is as intimate with Mrs. Rogell as you imply.”

“Take my word for it, he is,” she told him sharply. “But you call yourself a detective and I assume you plan to charge me an outlandish price for your services… so I suggest you start detecting. Finding the day-old grave of a little dog on the grounds of our estate should not be a superhuman task.”

Shayne grinned at her suddenly and rumpled his red hair. There was something damned likable about the old girl and her unshakable convictions. He said cheerfully, “All right. I’ll start detecting. But there’s the small matter of a retainer first.”

“How small a matter?” she demanded, gimlet-eyed.

“Say five hundred. You can leave a check with my secretary on your way out.”

“Isn’t that somewhat… excessive?”

He met her gaze coldly. “It all depends on your point of view, Miss Rogell. As I explained before, my secretary will be happy to furnish you with a list of investigators who will charge between thirty and fifty dollars a day.”