In mystery after mystery, the dog is no character at all but is what psychoanalysts might call a “part object,” a nose that sniffs or jaws that menace; or an apparently lifeless possession, a sort of fuzzy umbrella meant to suggest the owner’s personality. Ever since “Silver Blaze” dogs have been doing nothing in the night; but in subsequent mysteries countless dogs have done nothing in the daytime, either, thereby creating no incidents, curious or otherwise. Rather, they have sat around like pieces of furniture, perhaps periodically wagging their tails as woofy cuckoo clocks. As objects of fear, dogs have at least come to life, but from the hound of the Baskervilles on, these supposedly menacing creatures have rebelliously endeared themselves to the readers they were supposed to frighten. The hound, for example, is certainly one of Doyle’s most popular creations, and Baskerville remains a name lovingly bestowed on gigantic dogs.

Jet, however, is a canine witness portrayed with a dog lover’s enthusiasm and a dog fancier’s accuracy. An unmistakably real dog, this rain-loving, hat-fetching creature is equally recognizable as a Labrador retriever, probably a Labrador drawn from life, perhaps even one of Stout’s own, as Reed Maroc, Rex Stout’s grandson, recently suggested to me. In any case, Stout knew the breed, and Nero Wolfe knows his dogs. In discussing the skull of the Labrador retriever, Wolfe almost quotes the official standard: “wide, giving brain room.” Is Wolfe correct in asserting that the Labrador’s skull is the widest in dogdom? Perhaps not. But hyperbolic breed loyalty is an absolute mark of the true fancier. With regard to Wolfe’s claims about the relative antiquity of the basenji and the Afghan hound, the 1954 edition of the American Kennel Club’s Complete Dog Book indicates that his was an informed, if arguable, opinion. Furthermore, it is Wolfe’s ability to interpret the testimony of the canine witness that really solves the mystery.