But in ten minutes he was on the wire once more.
"Has the baby blanket got the monogram, 'B.R.R', on one corner?"
he asked excitedly.
"Yes," answered the Master. "I was going to tell you that, when
you hung up. And on--"
"That's the one!" fairly shouted the Chief. "As soon as you
finished talking to me, I got another call. General alarm out for
a kidnaped baby. Belongs to those Rennick people, up the Valley.
The artists that rented the old Beasley place this summer. The
baby was stolen, an hour ago; right out of the nursery. I'll
phone 'em that he's found; and then I'll be over."
"All right. There's another queer point about all this. Our
dog--"
"Speaking of dogs," went on the garrulous Chief, "this is a
wakeful evening for me. I just got a call from the drug store
that a couple of fellows have stopped there to get patched up
from dog-bites. They say a dozen stray curs set on 'em, while
they were changing a tire. The druggist thought they acted queer,
contradicting each other in bits of their story. So he's taking
his time, fixing them; till I can drop in on my way to your house
and give 'em the once over.
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