Something the Cat Dragged In by Charlotte MacLeod Page A

Ungley possessed at the time of his death is left to the college, to be used in setting up a department of Local History, a subject Ungley considered to have been grossly neglected during recent years. One-third goes to the Balaclavian Society, of which he was a past president and perpetual curator. The remaining third is left to his sole surviving relative, one Alonzo Bulfinch who is, if I am not mistaken, currently in the employ of Balaclava Agricultural College.”
    Hodger refolded the sheaf of papers and put it back in the drawer. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get over to the county courthouse.”
    He began struggling out of his chair. Shandy hadn’t realized until then how badly the lawyer was crippled with arthritis. Seeing Hodger’s cane hooked over the edge of the desk, he reached to hand it over. Then he noticed its handle was of carved silver in the shape of a running fox and as disproportionately heavy as Ungley’s.
    “Would you happen to have another cane, Mr. Hodger?” he asked.
    “What business is it of yours?” the lawyer barked.
    “Well, you see, I think Chief Ottermole is about to impound this one as possible evidence, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want to leave you with—er—no visible means of support.”

Chapter Eight
    O DDLY ENOUGH, HODGER DIDN’T make any great fuss over the cane. He did have another one, and got Ottermole to fetch it for him out of the umbrella stand beside the door. He then demanded a receipt and asked, not unreasonably, how soon his property might be returned to him.
    “That depends on what we find when we analyze the handle,” Shandy took it upon himself to answer.
    “Analyze the handle? For what, if I’m not out of order in asking?”
    “Not at all. We’re looking for bloodstains, bone slivers, fragments of brain matter, that sort of thing.”
    “Good God! And why should you expect to find them on my cane?”
    “Simply because yours happens to be identical with the cane found beside Ungley. That one is already being tested as the possible murder weapon. There’s the outside chance yours and his may have been switched.”
    “Why should they have been?”
    “That takes us into the realm of speculation, Mr. Hodger. Since you deal only in facts, any reply I could make at this time would not be germane to the issue.”
    “Umph. Have you then established what the issue is?”
    “Oh yes. The issue is that Ungley’s death was no accident as was at first supposed, but deliberate murder.”
    “Murder? That’s ridiculous. Who’d want to murder Ungley?”
    “You’re asking another question we can’t answer at this time. The murderer’s identity will be established on the basis of the evidence.”
    “What evidence?”
    “The evidence that will be presented at the trial. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Hodger. We’ll take great care of your cane.” Hodger himself did, obviously. His was in far better condition than Ungley’s. Another tidy man, drat it. “Er—would it be out of order to ask how yours and Ungley’s came to be just alike?”
    “They came to be identical because they were made that way. As to how I obtained mine, which I gather is what you’re attempting to ask, the answer is simple. I admired Ungley’s and he presented me with a mate to it. Where he got them, I am unable to say. As you leave, please tell my clerk I’m on my way out and to bring the car around. I don’t like to be kept standing.”
    Having been so adroitly given the bum’s rush, the oddly assorted posse could do nothing more than pass on Hodger’s message to the harried law clerk at the front desk—nobody ever knew who these wights were because he got them fresh out of law school and wore them out in no time flat—and go away. Once they were out on the sidewalk, Shandy turned to Svenson.
    “Who the hell,” he demanded, “is Alonzo Bulfinch?”
    “Security guard,” Svenson replied. “Just hired. Never said he was related to Ungley.”
    “Seemed like