Page 30 of Kirkyards & Kindness
“The collar was given to him by the city, as was the license.”
The crowd parts now to show it really is Gray speaking. He stands there, his expression impassive, gaze on Roy.
“That dog, sir, is an imposter,” Gray says.
Roy sputters. “This is Greyfriars?—”
“It is not,” Gray says. “Which I know, because Bobby belonged to my cousin, John Gray, and I often saw him while I was young.” I will never fail to be amazed by how smoothly Gray can lie, and this one rolls off his tongue with frosty superiority.
Roy straightens. “Cousin? You are no cousin to John Gray, a good Scotsman who looked nothing like you.”
“Everyone has two parents,” Gray says with a withering look. “My father was a Gray.”
“Dr. Gray!” a child pipes up. “Mama! It is Dr. Gray. The detective!”
I look to see a middle-class woman with two children, their attire suggesting they’ve come in from the countryside for the day.
The woman stares at Gray. “Oh, it is. Dr. Gray. Are you on a case?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. From her tone and expression, you’d think she’d just stumbled into a performance, as if “famous” detectives stride through the city, looking for miscreants, and she has been lucky enough to see a criminal apprehension live.
Of course, if Gray hadn’t wanted the spotlight, he wouldn’t have seized it. If he seized it, taking the chance of also being recognized . . .
I realize McCreadie is no longer at Gray’s side, and I glance discreetly around to see him slipping up behind Roy and the caged dog.
“That is not Greyfriars Bobby,” Gray says, as if he really is on a stage. “And yet he wears the collar that does belong to that dog, which begs the question . . .”
“Where is Greyfriars Bobby?” I say, and one of the children shrieks, “Miss Mitchell!” with obvious delight.
Roy looks from me to Gray. Then he turns to run, only to find McCreadie and a constable right behind him.
“The lass asked a question, Roy,” McCreadie says, “and I would suggest you answer it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Roy doesn’t answer. He throws himself at McCreadie, clearly deciding he’s the lesser threat. McCreadie grabs him by the lapels, but Roy takes advantage of his oversized jacket and wriggles free, ducking and running . . . straight into the constable. It’s Iain, who is McCreadie’s unofficial protégé. The big Highlander catches Roy and holds him easily while saying, “Sir?” to McCreadie.
“Take him aside,” McCreadie says. Then he scoops up the hat with the money. “I realize you were all cheated of this, and you may ask for your money back, of course, but I would also ask that you consider leaving it as a donation for the good citizen who helped us catch this man. A citizen who has fallen on hard times. If you wish your money returned, simply ask Miss Mitchell.”
He hands me the hat, and I arch my brows, but I get it. People might grumble at having to ask a cop for their money back. But they’ll also be less likely to take it back from me and risk proving themselves uncharitable in front of a pretty girl. Only a few take their money. I notice the country woman hesitating, and I walk over to her and press a few shillings in her hand.
“For your help,” I say. “I am sorry the little ones did not get to see the real Bobby.”
“Will you find him?” the boy asks.
“We will try,” I say solemnly.
Once they’re gone, I take the rest of the money to the old man who’d helped, doing so as discreetly as I can so it’s not obvious he was our informant. When I return, Gray is standing aside, watching McCreadie interrogate Roy.
“The tumor,” I whisper to Gray. “That’s how you know it wasn’t Bobby.”
He nods. “The tumor was the deciding factor, though this dog is obviously more elderly than Bobby.”
“Your cousin’s dear pup.”
His lips twitch.
“You are far too good at that,” I say. “But it was nicely done.”
