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“Reckon he picked up an old scent,” the hound master commented. “Mr. Rudge’s trace should be strong around where he worked.”

“He is unlikely to have walked away,” Evelyn burst out. “Would the hounds pick up his scent if he was being carried?”

“Fair point,” the hound master commented. “Where was he when he went missing?”

“In one of the guest chambers,” Evelyn said. “His own quarters are still inhospitable.”

“A fire was it?” the man asked. “Miserable business.”

“Indeed,” Constable Morris agreed. “I’ll ask the butler if we can take one or two of the hounds up to the room. Mrs. Swinton has a point. If his feet did not touch the ground, there might not be a trail to follow.”

“Can the dogs pick up the trace of anyone who should not have been in the room?” Evelyn asked.

“Depends on who it was, Mrs. Swinton. Dogs are smart, but they do not understand much in the way of words, and they for sure do not guess thoughts. Best we take three or four dogs, and let them each track a scent. We’ll just have to see what they come up with.”

They went up to the kitchen door, and happened to meet Mrs. Henshaw coming up from one of the cellars.

“May we have leave to take the dogs up to the chamber where Mr. Rudge was staying?” Constable Morris asked.

“On the carpets and clean floors?” Mrs. Henshaw exclaimed in horror.

“It could be a way to find Mr. Rudge,” Evelyn explained. “May we please?”

“Very well, but if one of those dogs lifts a leg, leaves something behind, or chews on the furniture, I shall make note of every item they touched.”

“The Duke’s dogs are very well trained,” the hound master put in. “I hardly think they will do any of those things. Especially since we should need only a short while indoors.”

“Very well,” the diminutive housekeeper said. “But mind that they do not damage the carpets.”

As a group, they trooped up to the guest bed chamber. At a word from the hound master, they spread out and began sniffing around the room. Almost at once, one of them came over to Evelyn, and let out a short, sharp bark.

Evelyn held down her hand, with the back of it facing the dog. “Yes, I was here,” she told her.

The brown and white female gave her hand a brief look, and glanced at her handler as if to say, “What now?”

Meanwhile, two of the dogs picked up Mr. McElroy’s scent, and apparently that of the people who had helped him back to his room. One of them began baying, as if on the trail of a fox or a badger, and tugged his handler down the hall on the end of the leash, ending up at the door of the guest chamber where the scullery was staying.

Another of the beasts, a wire-haired little terrier, sprang away from his handler, dashed down the hall, and set up a furious barking at a particular door.

“What is in that room?” Constable Morris asked.

“That is the entrance to the Duke’s chambers,” Evelyn replied. “I do not believe he is in residence today. We would have to ask Mr. Wilson for the key. Those rooms are kept locked unless the Duke is using them.”

“I see,” Constable Morris commented, studying the little dog who continued a furious scratching and whining at that door.

The handler reached down and picked the little dog up. “I’m sorry, Constable. Maisie is a favorite of the Duke’s. She has caught his scent, and probably is hoping for a treat. He spoils her abominably.”

The rag mop of a dog continued to squirm and whine. “I’ll take her out,” the handler said. “Perhaps she needs to relieve herself.”

The hound master nodded absently. “Most peculiar behavior. I have not seen her behave like that before, but we usually are accompanying the Duke when we have them out. She likes to ride on his saddlebow.”

They had just started back down the hall, when one of the younger pups, who had been casting about the hallway, let out a yip and nearly dragged his handler down the stairs. Maisie struggled in the arms of her handler, and tried to escape.

“Do you think they found something?” Constable Morris asked.

“More likely picking up our back trail,” the hound master said, keeping a grip on the lead attached to the brown and white matriarch who had sniffed Evelyn’s hand. “Here, now, Majesty,” he addressed the hound. “What is it, girl?”

The bitch snuffled and strained at the lead, heading toward the servants’ stair.