Matlin said, “I’m sorry . . . It’s . . . I can’t . . . She means to do her best. But she’s a terrible cook. Somebody gave her those . . . those herbs. Thyme . . . thyme in everything. She fixed me a lunch box. I . . . couldn’t stomach it. I bought my lunch at the club.”

Mike nodded.

Matlin went on, his voice cracking. “I never . . . You see, I didn’t even know it was meat the dog got. She said . . . she told me the dog was already dead.”

“And of course,” said Mike, “in your righteous wrath, you never paused to say to yourself, ‘Wait, what did happen to the dog?’”

“Mr. Russell, I didn’t lie. How could I know there was thyme in it? When I got home, I had to get rid of the hamburger she’d fixed for me—I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She tries . . . tries so hard . . .” He sat up suddenly. “But what she tried to do today,” he said, with his eyes almost out of his head, “was to poison me!” His bulging eyes roved. They came to Freddy. He gasped. He said, “Your dog saved my life!”

“Yes,” said Mike quickly, “Freddy’s dog saved your life. You see, your step-daughter would have kept trying.”

People drew in their breaths. “The buns are in your incinerator,” Mike said. “She guessed what happened to the dog, went for the buns, and hid them. She was late, you remember, getting to the disturbance. And she did lie.”

Chief Anderson rose.

“Her mother . . .” said Matlin frantically, “her mother . . .”

Mike Russell put his hand on the plump shoulder. “Her mother’s been in torment, tortured by the rivalry between you. Don’t you think her mother senses something wrong?”

Miss Lillian Dana wrapped Freddy in her arms. “Oh, what a wonderful dog Bones was!” She covered the sound of the other voices. “Even when he died, he saved a man’s life. Oh, Freddy, he was a wonderful dog.”

And Freddy, not quite taking everything in yet, was released to simple sorrow and wept quietly against his friend . . .

When they went to fetch May Matlin, she was not in the house. They found her in the Titus’s back shed. She seemed to be looking for something.

Next day, when Mr. and Mrs. Titus came home, they found that although the little dog had died, their Freddy was all right. The Judge, Russell, and Miss Dana told them all about it.

Mrs. Titus wept. Mr. Titus swore. He wrung Russell’s hand. “. . . for stealing the gun . . .” he babbled.

But the mother cried, “. . . for showing him, for teaching him. . . . Oh, Miss Dana, oh, my dear!”

The Judge waved from his veranda as the dark head and the blonde drove away.

“I think Miss Dana likes him,” said Ernie Allen.

“How do you know for sure?” said Freddy Titus.

THE STRIPPER

Anthony Boucher

Detective: Sister Ursula