The Case of the Fiddle Playing Fox Read Online Free

about my dog food bill. I might just run the cost of gain on you mutts and decide to cut down on my overhead.”
    He leaned down and brought his face real close to mine. “Do you understand what I’m saying? No more busted eggs. No more angry wife. No more varmints in the chicken house. Tend to your business!”
    Tend to . . . what did he think we’d . . . but, yes, the message had come through loud and clear, so loud and so clear that I left the chicken house shaking all over.
    If you happen to be a dog, the prospect of life without dog food can be rather bleak. We had a job to do, fellers, and we dared not fail.

Chapter Four: The Case of the Phoney Fiddle Music in the Night

    L oper closed the door, gave us one last scorching glare, and stomped back down to the corrals. Needless to say, I had little desire to go with him. There are times to be a loyal dog and there are times to be invisible. I choose invisible.
    As soon as Loper’s footsteps faded into the distance, I turned to my assistant. “Well, you sure made a mess of this deal. Where were you last night when the robber strolled into the chicken house and had himself a feast?”
    â€œI don’t know. I never saw him.”
    â€œExactly. Now, the next question is, why didn’t you see him? What were you doing that was more important than guarding the chicken house?”
    â€œWell . . .”
    â€œNothing. That’s the answer. Nothing was more important than guarding the chicken house, and that is precisely what you were doing.”
    â€œOh. Well, I guess I was doing the right thing, huh?”
    â€œAbsolutely wrong.”
    â€œOh drat. But Hank, if nothing was more im­portant than guarding the chicken house, then I was doing the more important thing, seems to me.”
    I glared at him. “Are you trying to confuse me?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œGood. It would be a waste of your time to try. Furthermore . . .”
    At that moment I realized that I was being stared at by a pair of rooster eyes—at close range. You ever been stared at by a rooster at close range? They have this funny way of twisting their heads, see, and blinking their eyes, as if they’re not sure what it is they’re looking at.
    As you might have guessed, J. T. Cluck had returned—without being invited, I might add.
    â€œOh, it’s you again,” said J.T. “I was a-wondering what that was. Did you just come out of the chicken house?”
    â€œWho wants to know?”
    â€œWho do you think, you darn fool dog? ME! I want to know who’s going in and out of my chicken house. You may not know it, mister, and you may not care, but we’ve been losing eggs in the night.”
    â€œI’m aware of that, and as a matter of fact, I just happen to be working on the case at this very moment.”
    â€œHuh. Somehow that don’t thrill me the way it ort to.”
    â€œOh yeah? Well, thrilling chickens ain’t something I’d care to do, even if I didn’t have anything else on my agenda, which I do. But while you’re here and wasting my time anyway, I might as well ask you a few questions.”
    â€œGo ahead, ask me some questions, ask me anything. My life’s an open book.”
    â€œI know. And if you had to make your living selling it, you’d starve to death.”
    â€œSay what? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œNothing.” I fixed him with a stern gaze and began to pace back and forth in front of him. Did I mention that my mind works better when I . . . yes, I did. “All right, let’s get down to the brass tacks.”
    â€œFine, I’m ready, ask me anything. Say, you ever been pecking for gravel and swaller a brass tack? I did that once, and you talk about indigestion! That was the first time in my life that I ever got cavities in my gizzard gravel.”
    â€œThat’s very interesting.”
    â€œYeah, I know. We ain’t