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"So what's the dog's name?"

We started on our way in the direction of the museum.

"Dorian."

We kept on walking through town, the museum was in the slightly less conservative area, downtown. It was a museum with history; break ins, murders, kidnappings, a detectives dream.
    We passed a bakery, and I got Ben's attention.

"I'm hungry." I said.

"I like fritters." Ben commented.

We walked through the door, a small bell dinged above us, and the counter holder looked up.

"What can I do for you two?"

"We'll just have a quick look around." I said, and walked over to the cake section.

"Hmm... Ben, come over here."

"Hmm?"

Ben came over here. "Remember that lady said something about Cake?"

"Yeah, but as we were leaving, I heard her say the words 'chesterfield,' and 'garage door.'"

"Still, look in this donut cake..."

The man behind the counter stomped over to us. "If you want to touch the cakes, you have to buy the cakes."

"But, we just want to-"

"Buy the cake then."

"Just to look in th-"

"Buy it."

I sighed heavily, and pulled my wallet out, snatched $25 from it and slammed it into the man's hand.

"There."

He smiled and went back behind the counter.

sw says:
I stuck my hand into the donut cake, and pulled out a small black hair. I held it up to the light, and then held out my hand for Ben to put the beagle in.

"NO ONE TOUCHES HIM."

"Please, for the sake of drama..."


"No."

"Look, Ben, just.... Oh, fine!"

I prepared myself, clearing my throat. It was time to give a speech.
"Cake may have been a seemingly useless word at the time we had heard it. But, perhaps subconsciously, the woman was remembering something told to her by her son, possibly about going to a cake store. Now, you may have noticed the name of this bakery, 'Chesterfields,' and perhaps that it is located next to a garage door..." I took a breath, and looked dramatically at something in the air, "...We have found our first clue."

I was satisfied with my speech. Now, I needed to test my theory. I needed the beagle.

"Now, I need to test my theory, I need the beagle."

"No."

"Please?"

Ben shook his head fiercely; making things rustle around loudly in his hat, the man at the counter raised his eyebrows, and then went back to work.

"Fine... here." I passed Ben the hair reluctantly, and he lifted up the beagle. Ben, not a fan of drama, more an eccentric man, simply stuck the hair under the dog's nose.

"BARK!" Barked the dog loudly.

The dog barked loudly, and jumped out of Ben's arms. He scampered out of the door, and we followed hastily.

"I didn't know beagles were good trackers." I said to Ben, through heavy panting.

"Oh, they are very good. In fact, they were used to hunt foxes."

We were running now, the beagle darting through people's feet, us excusing ourselves politely, trying not to lose sight of the dog.

Finally, we stopped, in front of the museum. "See, I told you." I said with contempt... Ben bent down and scratched the beagles head.

"I believed you."

"So, now we go in."

Then I realized. The admission fee. To get into the museum we had to pay $10. We were broke.

"Ben, we can't get in, we have no money."

"I have a lifetime membership."

"But what about me.... and the beagle?"

Ben contemplated it for a short time, and then, slipping easily back into code, said:

"To the washing machine!"

"But... we can't break in! We are on the wrong side of the law..."

Ben shook his head. Sometimes I misinterpreted his code... He walked up to the attendant, and said:

"Hey, Tracy, my friend and I would like a...personal tour..."

Tracy looked down at the dog, raised her eyebrows, and then looked back up at Ben. 'Calling on that personal favour, are we?"

"Of course."

She smiled, "Sure thing."

We followed her into the main hall, and Ben patted the dog once more, eccentrically, and set him off, sniffing.

"So, your Ben's partner?" Said Tracy.

"That'd be me, yes."

"Ah, and are we here on detective business?"

"That'd be why, yes."

"So, that's why the dog's here?"

"That'd be it, yes."

We walked along in silence, admiring the art, until the dog stopped before a 'staff only' door, and barked.

We stopped, and crept up to the door, I motioned for Ben to go on the other side, and we drew our guns.
I moved my hand to the door handle, and slowly began to turn it. I stopped and listened for something behind the door, nothing. I kept on turning the handle until it was to the point of clicking open. Then, for the sake of drama, I opened it and barged in, gun held high.
     At least, I would have barged in... If there was in fact a room to barge in to. It was a second or so before I realized that I was falling down the back of the museum, and had I realized any later, I would be dead. But, I reached out just in time to grab a protruding brick. I stopped falling, and started panicking.

Ben and Tracy's heads peeked over the door sill. "Are you alright?" Called Tracy.

"Yes... a bit shaken up, and about to fall to my death.”

"Well don’t get the lobster bisque."

"I don't exactly have a choice now, do I?"

I looked down below me, and saw hard pavement. Not a lot of hope for survival there. "The hat!" I shouted up at Ben. "Is there something in the hat?"

"Hardly, however..."

Ben vanished from view, and returned with a rolled up rope. He dropped one end down to me, and I grabbed on with a hand. I pulled myself up enough to get a good hold on the rope, and grabbed onto it with my other hand. Ben, unready for the sudden weight, slipped over the edge of the door sill.

"Ben!" I shouted, before I realized that now, there was nothing holding me up. Luckily, in a stroke of luck, there happened to be an ancient bed being added to the museum's history collection, and it was being carried in through the back entrance, right underneath us.

Ben and I fell into the soft bed, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"That was close..."

"I wonder how old this thing is, it seems quite well used...I wonder...hmm...never mind."

Ben seemed to be going out of code a lot today, perhaps it was the fact that he had eaten some strange looking crackers earlier today.

A realization dawned on me...

"Wait a minute.. if the dog led us to that door, and he was following the scent of the boy, then that must mean that the boy fell from there, and died... hrm... we must look for blood."

BENZ says:
"There will be none"

"Why not? And how would you know?"

"Hmm?"

Ben dismissed my questions. "Well, let’s look anyway." I jumped off of the bed, passed the men carrying it, and crouched down on the pavement.

I pulled out my pipe and my magnifying glass, and began searching the ground.

"Ben! Look here!" I shouted happily. "No, no, wait.. Just some spilled tomato sauce."

Ben sighed in disappointment

"Sigh." Sighed Ben.

There! I had spotted a small strand of hair, black.

Ben walked over slowly, clearly annoyed at how professionally detectival I was.

"Here, look." I held up the hair to him.

"Hmm...DORIAN!!! DORIAN!!!"

The dog jumped from the doorway, and landed flatly on Ben's hat.

"Here."

Ben handed the sock that the lady had given us to the beagle, who sniffed it carefully before barking. I handed Ben the hair that we had found in the cake, and he held it up to Dorian, who barked excitedly.

"What is it Dorian? Little Timmy stuck down the old well again?"

Ben glared at me for making fun of his dog.

"Sorry.. "

The beagle jumped down from Ben’s hat, and ran to the corner of the block towards a large garbage bin. We ran over to him, and knocked on the garbage bin. A loud metal clanging sound, followed by a little bit of dark red blood leaking out of crack in the garbage bin told us that we would be giving the old lady some bad news.

Ben lifted up the lid of the bin, and a sharp smell hit us. The smell of death. Inside was the curled up body of Dorian Black.

"That's the curled up body of Dorian Black!"

"No really?"

"Yeah, really!"

"Sigh"

Something told me that Ben had figured this out long before me, and that he had simply kept it to himself so as to grant me my indulgence in dramatic detectiving.

"Well, I suppose the investigation is over. Let’s get back and tell his mother the bad news."

"No."

"No?"

Ben picked up the beagle, gave it a pat, and said:

"No, there is one problem."

"There is?"

"Yes."

There always seemed to be more...

"Well then, what is it?"

"That may look like Dorian Black, but it most definitely is not. However, let us test this."

Ben took the sock, and let the dog sniff it.

"Wait... but..." The dog had run around the corner again, to a dark alleyway. Ben and I followed him, yet again. The beagle kept on running, through more alleyways, out into some open streets, alleyways, streets, and alleyways again, until we arrived back were we had started. Our office.

I opened the back door, and followed the beagle upstairs to the door, inside, Beth was talking to a man in a clean suit jacket. The beagle ran up to him, and barked at us.

"That man looks like Dorian Black...." I whispered to Ben.

BENZ says:
"Of course."


Beth's eyes had lit up, and she had grabbed the puppy, and started stroking its fur. I nodded to the man, "You are Dorian Black?"

"That's me!" He said, "And I've lost my mother."

"So who was the guy in the garbage bin?"

"What?" Dorian was puzzled.

"Never mind," I said, "But, we CAN help you find your mother."

"For a price..." Ben added.

"Say, $300?" I asked, greed glimmering in my eyes.

"Sure," He reached into his wallet and pulled out three $100 bills.

"That will do nicely, thank you."



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Ben and I arrived back at the Office after escorting the man to find his mother. It turned out that she was rather crazy, and had killed a tea merchant for the tea that we had drunk, apparently she had left him in a garbage bin near the museum.
    But the fine details didn't matter to us; we had just made $300.

"I'll take that, thank you very much." Said Beth, snatching the 300 from my hands.

"But... What?"

"I haven't been payed in three years,"

"Ha!" laughed Ben

"Ben, don't laugh, we just lost $300."

Ben smiled, and picked up the beagle. He placed the dog in his hat and spoke the wise words:

"A penny earned is a penny for Beth."

"So it would seem."

Another hard day’s work... for nothing.




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