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Chapman kept the animal on the floor. As I touched the broad top of his head, he rolled over onto his back, with his legs in the air and I obliged by tickling his stomach. He lay there, tongue lolling out and those dark, trusting eyes upon me as I quickly surveyed his underparts and legs. They were clean—there was no sign of mud or blood. I was pleased.
    “Can I open his mouth?”
    “He won’t bite,” said the owner with confidence.
    I gripped the dog by his jaws and opened his mouth, pressing the flaps of skin away from his sharp white teeth and clamping my hand over his tongue. There was no bloodand no wool adhering to his mouth area. The dog was as clean as a whistle. This was no killer.
    “Well?” he asked.
    “Clean,” I said.
    “Does that mean he’s innocent?” he asked.
    “It means I’m sure he is, Mr Chapman. I understand that a black labrador has been roaming those fields, unaccompanied , and yours is the only one in Thackerston.”
    “Yes, he is. But he’s not been out this morning. I’d swear to that in a court of law.”
    “Thanks. I’m obliged.” I made as if to leave his home.
    “Mr Rhea, I’m not one to hold this against you—you are doing your job, and I respect the law and all it stands for. You’ll call again?”
    “I will, Mr Chapman, and under better circumstances next time.”
    When I informed Fairclough of my actions and decision, he almost burst a blood-vessel.
    “P.C. Rhea! You are failing in your duty if you believe that rubbish! Of course he’d say the dog hadn’t been out! He would, wouldn’t he? It would go home covered in blood and dirt, so he’d clean it up! Of course he would, anybody would, if only to check the dog for injuries … it’s a natural action …”
    “I’m sure it was never out of that house during the times your sheep were attacked,” I stood my ground. “A cripple couldn’t wash a dog clean, not a dog that size and not as clean as that one. I even had its mouth open—it was clean too. No wool about the teeth, nothing. That dog didn’t worry your sheep, Mr Fairclough.”
    “So what happens now? What does the law propose to do about my sheep?”
    “I’ll report this to my superiors,” I said, “and our men will keep observations. If you see any dogs on your land, perhaps you’d let me know.”
    “I’ll shoot the bastards first,” he said. “I can, can’t I?”
    “You can shoot a dog actually in the act of worrying sheep, or one which you know has been worrying them and is about to renew its attack. You can’t shoot one which is running away afterwards.”
    “Why not, for God’s sake?”
    “It might not be the culprit, not if it’s only seen running away. It could be another innocent dog.”
    “Aye, well, we all know the way to get round that, Mr Rhea. Now look, if any of my sheep are damaged again, I’ll be in touch with your Chief Constable and I’ll tell him of this conversation. I know that dog killed my sheep. It’s your job to prove it.”
    He was building up for a shouting match, so I left him. There was little point in continuing the argument. I could understand his view, but I was convinced Mr Chapman was telling the truth. I could not ignore the fact, however, that Nero might have sneaked out through that open door. Chapman could have cleaned up the animal too. It was quite possible, but I couldn’t work on surmise. I needed absolute proof.
    For a week there was peace, and then, one Sunday morning , my telephone rang. It was Fairclough again and he was extremely agitated.
    “Mr Rhea? That dog’s been back. One sheep attacked and torn this time. The flock terrified out of their wits…. get yourself right down to Chapman’s and see that dog of his. It was seen again.”
    “What time did this happen?” I asked.
    “Between ten o’clock and half-eleven.”
    “I’m on my way,” I told him. It was quarter to twelve.
    Fairclough was parading up and down his farmyard as I entered, and his face was a picture of