When the dog chase after it's tail

Chapter 11

                    Friday, January 19, 1846.

I had not left my place since.
I stood there pacing and torturing my mind over those three murders.

I sat down at my desk, got up to look for who knows what on my shelves, hoping to find something likely to cause an illumination.

The frustration of no longer being privileged in my case made me rage from the inside.

I sat down at my desk, on the verge of despair.
I was tapping the varnished wood of my desk when I noticed a strange detail.

I should probably leave this frustration aside because, by dint of banging my fingers on the wood desk, I had come to file my nails very unevenly.

Even the desk had traces of it leaves on there.

I run my fingers over the scratch marks and remember Mr. Stilman's scratched floor.
There weren't enough markings on the ground to suggest there had been more than one dog.

It all makes no sense.

Let's imagine, one or more dogs enters Stilman's house by I don't know what means to attack and kill him, he probably wouldn't let it go, he had a minimum of spirit to survive all the same.
He would have fought, hitting them or pulling them back.

All this would have scratched the floor of course, maybe too, make hair fall! Hair that would have the DNA of dogs!

But the day I went there everything had already been cleaned, no fur to be found.

I got up from my chair and get ready to go to Stilman's, right now.

                                        *

I had asked the butler and housekeeper if they had seen any fur on or near the corpse when they discovered it.

Everyone answered me that it had been too shocking for them to be able to pay attention to this detail.

I should have known.

So I went home empty-handed.
Swinging my coat on the desk chair, I wondered about all this.

It was obvious that an animal was the culprit, but which one? And how ?

I put my candle on the bedside table and sitting on my bed I found something surprising.

A tuft of black fur.