Merlin interrupted with a bark. His head was turned towards the front of the house and his manner, despite his weakened condition, was alert. He barked again with more strength and struggled to rise.
Turtle was halfway through the corridor before I could force Merlin down. The open door gave a clear view of the front windows and the police car that slid sideways on the snow to a stop in front of the house.
“The shots last night?” DeLord asked.
“The burglary at Mrs. Everett’s,” I countered flatly.
Merlin growled, an angry frustrated snarl of a growl. His head slewed around to the rear of the house. I grabbed at the major’s arm, pointing.
“We’re surrounded,” I cried out, for a navy patrol, led off by two Dobermans straining at their leashes, came tramping out of the scrub at the rear of the house.
“Those shots!” the major said conclusively.
“Christ! Shore Patrol!” Turtle grated out. Two blue jeeps had drawn up beside the police car and armed men were piling out of all three cars.
The policeman gesticulating at the house was cut off bluntly by a gesture from the SP officer. Just then Turtle yanked open the door.
“Whaddya want?”
And the second patrol banged on the back door.
I fell on Merlin to keep him down. DeLord came to my assistance as the major, his face set, went to deal with the rear assault group.
“Let’s see your papers, Major,” a stern voice ordered Laird through Merlin’s snarls.
The Dobermans, aware of another dog’s presence, set up a deafening hullabaloo. I heard a noisy scrambling over the incensed barking and the back door was slammed, cutting the canine chorus down appreciably.
“This is all snafu.” DeLord grinned at me over Merlin’s writhing body.
“Goddamitall, Merlin, at ease!” I ordered, slapping his muzzle in my desperation to keep him from opening his wounds. He whined piteously at the unexpectedly severe reprimand. With an aggrieved expression in his eyes, he had to content himself with growling at the Dobermans who were still roaring outside.
“Come in, Ensign,” Laird was saying. “May I inquire why my house has been surrounded?”
“Your papers, Major!” the shore patrolman repeated flintily. The man had entered the back hall far enough to see the lieutenant and me sprawled across Merlin’s body. He stared at us, turning slightly to expose the drawn thirty-eight in his hand.
“Shut your dogs up, Ensign,” I cried, “Mine’s been wounded and I’ve got to keep him quiet.” With those Dobermans sounding off, Merlin would not relax.
“Ensign, I’m Lieutenant Robert DeLord, Provost Marshal, on special assignment with Major Laird and Sergeant Bailey.” The authority in his voice was incongruous with his semirecumbent position.
The coastguardsman had to crouch to see the lieutenant.
“If you’ll muzzle your dogs, I can get up and show you my identification.”
“Belay those dogs, mister!” the ensign bellowed, his volume equal to Turtle’s parade voice. The Dobermans were silenced.
At this point, Turtle stomped back into the kitchen, his face black with indignant anger. A police officer and another shore patrol j.g. followed him. I could see two men taking positions at the front door. One carried a tommy gun at the ready.
“You get up, Merlin, and I’ll whip you. Whip you. Hear?” I muttered savagely before I scrambled to my feet. Cold air swirled around my bare toes.
“Close that door!” I cried.
“Chrissake, Lieutenant, they think we’re Nazis, landed by sub last night!” announced Turtle at the top of his lungs, his Dorchester accent unmistakable. No Nazi was that good an imitator.
Laird was now showing the ensign his orders. The sandpeep’s manners thawed considerably.
“Thank you, sir. Lieutenant?” and the ensign took the major’s papers over to his j.g.
The kitchen, large enough for many, seemed awfully crowded with armed and angry men.
“These look all right,” the j.g. remarked dubiously, passing them on to the policeman who waved them aside. He had been staring in an unpleasant way at the major.
“Eyah. I know Laird.”
At the curiously antagonistic comment, Regan Laird turned his face slightly to the left so that his good profile was in full view of the policeman. The man nodded coldly.
“Eyah, that’s Regan Laird.”
“Beatty,” the major said by way of greeting.
“Who are these others, then?” demanded the j.g.
The policeman lifted heavy shoulders in a shrug.
“I’ll vouch for them,” the major said quickly. “Both the sergeant and the lieutenant served with me in the Fifth Corps.”
“The lieutenant says he’s provost marshal,” the ensign tacked on.
DeLord bore the keen scrutiny with poise.
“Know about the shooting last night?” the shore patrolman asked.
“Yes.” DeLord’s flat answer was intended to discourage further questions.
“I have to ask for an explanation, lieutenant,” the j.g. insisted, shifting his weight.
“Will you tell them to shut that front door?” I hissed, seizing my opportunity.
“Who are you?” the policeman asked.
“I’m James Carlysle Murdock,” I said, with a grimace, steeling myself for the inevitable reaction.
“My ward,” the major inserted. “The daughter of my commanding officer who was killed in Europe.”
Questions were effectively silenced and the intruders shuffled nervously. I saw the j.g. give a signal and I heard the door close.
The policeman was looking at me speculatively now.
“I want to know about those shots, too,” he asserted, looking from me to the major. Laird gestured to DeLord.
I made a quick bet with myself, and won. DeLord ducked his head and fingered his scar.
“We had an unexpected visitor last night,” the lieutenant said, having gathered his thoughts together. “Naturally we took off after him. So did the dog and when the burglar’s accomplice took a shot at Merlin, well, naturally we took defensive action.”
“Did it occur to you that you would alarm the coast with such unauthorized gunfire?” the j.g, snapped in an acid voice. “Don’t you guys know there’s a .” He stopped. He had the decency to look abashed as his eyes darted to the major’s ruined face. His own countenance turned bright red with embarrassment. Turtle’s surly growl indicated his opinion of the navy.
“No, I’m afraid it didn’t,” DeLord replied with more humility than I’d have used under the circumstances. “For one thing,” and I couldn’t see why he felt he had to justify our actions, “Miss Murdock’s dog was seriously wounded. For another, we have no way of communicating with the authorities.”
“Well,” the j.g. grumbled, “this isn’t our jurisdiction at all then.” He saluted the major, jerked his head significantly at the ensign in lieu of an order. The front-door party of patrolmen withdrew with what I considered rather bad grace since we were not at fault.
“A moment, Ensign,” DeLord said after Turtle closed the hall door on the first group. “Any of your men trained in veterinary skills? I’d appreciate someone looking at the shepherd.”
“Sure, Lieutenant, just a minute.” The ensign was not at all disgruntled.
“That can wait,” said the policeman officiously. “I’ve a few questions.”
“They’ve waited this long, they can wait a little longer,” I retorted, glaring at him.
He turned his head in my direction slowly and gave me a long look, compounded of annoyance that I had spoken in the first place, then insolence as he realized I was older than I looked.
“It won’t take a moment,” the lieutenant assured Beatty diplomatically.
I began not to like this young man suddenly.
Beatty ignored the lieutenant, pulling a slip of paper out of his pocket. He consulted it for a moment.