Free Nipped in the Bud by Stuart Palmer Page A

sticks to it.”
    “I believe you,” said Miss Withers dreamily. “And never lost a client! It’s rather a shame, then, that poor little Ina Kell wasn’t one of his clients….”
    “Is she lost?” cried the tall girl sharply. “I mean …”
    “About as lost as one can get, I fear. I see you recognize the name.”
    Gracie nodded. “Why, yes, I wouldn’t say this if you weren’t practically a member of the family, and don’t breathe it to a soul, but there was a Miss Kell who called up in a dither one day when the boss happened to be out of the office. She had to see him right away, and I gathered it was about something that might help free Junior Gault, though she wouldn’t say what. She didn’t even want to give me her name, but I wormed it out of her and promised that if she’d leave her number I’d have him call her back. I put a note on the boss’s desk when I went home, but he didn’t get around to calling her next morning and then it turned out to be only a pay phone somewhere. Isn’t that a shame?”
    “I rather think so,” agreed Miss Withers gravely. “And when did all this occur?”
    “A couple or three weeks ago. But—”
    “Shortly before Ina Kell became officially lost,” the schoolteacher mused. It was odd that Sascha Bordin hadn’t mentioned anything about this to her—or on second thought, perhaps it wasn’t. “Did you try to locate her?”
    Gracie nodded. “Everywhere, but she’d just dropped out of sight. The boss thinks that the D.A.’s office found out their prize witness was going to give them the wrong sort of surprise, and got rid of her—”
    “Well!” said Miss Withers, somewhat more than baffled, and transferred her attention to her lunch. She seemed to be going around in circles, like a traveler lost in the North Woods.
    What was indicated, she decided, was an hour or two of deep cogitation. But when she got back to her little hotel room she was met head-on by Talley the poodle.
    Talley had had a dull morning, little brightened by a turn around the block with a bored bellboy as anchor. Long used to the limitless beaches of Southern California, Talley desired lots of exercise.
    “Later. Can’t you see that I’m thinking?”
    The big apricot-colored poodle had thoughts of his own. With a sort of frenzied resignation he set out to curry favor in every way he knew. He brought his mistress’s slippers, which she did not want. He tossed his beloved rubber rat in the air and caught it; he knocked the telephone off the hook, and barked cheerfully when the operator answered. Then in desperation he went through his entire repertoire of tricks; walked on his hind legs, played dead dog on the carpet and circus dog sitting on a table, chased his pom-pom of a tail and knelt to pray. Finally, clearly implying that he had been silly enough to please any human however unreasonable, he brought his leather lead and laid it firmly at Miss Withers’ feet.
    “Oh, very well, you dratted nuisance,” conceded the weary schoolteacher. They fared forth into Central Park, and had already done a fast mile or so when the belated inspiration struck her. “Talleyrand!” she said sharply.
    The poodle stopped short, searching his conscience. Then he sat up and pawed apologetically with both furry forefeet.
    “Relax. It just occurred to me that French poodles, like gold-headed canes and electric broughams, carry a certain cachet of respectability in some circles. Talley, for once in your life would you care to do something to earn your salt?”
    Talley lolled a long, very pink tongue, his eyes hopefully searching her face for some trace of meaning in all those words. He was, he made clear, ready for anything that wouldn’t immediately take him back to the hotel.
    “First we must find a phone,” Miss Withers observed thoughtfully. Talley barked, plunging eagerly ahead of her as she altered their course, obviously entering into the spirit of the chase. Only, the schoolteacher told