The Mystery of the Invisible Dog - M. V. Carey [8]
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Bob.
“Yes. A tragedy, if it really did occur. The father of the child demanded that the dogs be destroyed. The nobleman refused, and it’s said that he tossed a few coins to the villager as payment for the dead child. The father was very angry, of course, and in his rage he picked up a stone and hurled it at the nobleman. It killed him, but not instantly.
Before he died, the vicious nobleman cursed the village and everyone in it. He vowed that he would return to haunt the place.”
“I suppose he came back as a dog?” said Pete.
“A huge hound,” said Charles Niedland. “A huge, half-starved hound who could have been part wolf. The nobleman’s entire hunting pack was destroyed, but on dark nights, one gaunt creature roamed the streets, howling and whining, its ribs showing through its coat. The people were frightened. Some put out food for the beast, but it couldn’t or wouldn’t eat. So, if the demon dog was the old nobleman, the curse came true. He did haunt the village. However, there was a horrible justice to it, for he was always hungry, as his own dogs had always been.
“In time, the villagers moved away. If the dog still prowls, he does so in an abandoned ruin.”
“Did your brother make a painting of the dog?” asked Jupe.
“My brother was not a painter,” explained Charles Niedland. “He sketched, of course, when he was working out his designs, but he was really a sculptor. He worked in glass and crystal — sometimes in crystal combined with metals.”
“The Carpathian Hound was a marvellous piece,” said Fenton Prentice. “Edward Niedland made it especially for me. It was finished a month ago but never delivered.
Edward was having a show of some of his newer work at the Mailer Gallery, and he wanted to include the Hound. Of course I was happy to let him do so. And now it’s gone!”
“It’s a glass statue of a dog, then,” said Bob.
“Crystal,” Mr. Prentice corrected him. “Crystal and gold.”
“Crystal is a type of glass,” Charles Niedland put in, “but an extremely special type.
It’s made of the very finest silica, with a high proportion of lead oxide, so it’s heavier and much more brilliant than ordinary glass. My brother worked with glass — and crystal —
that was so hot it was still almost liquid. He’d shape it with tools, then reheat it as it cooled, then shape it some more, reheat it, shape it, and so on until he had the form he wanted. Then he’d finish it, grinding and buffing and polishing with acid. When it was done, the Carpathian Hound was a magnificent sculpture. The eyes of the dog were rimmed with gold, and there was golden froth on the jowls. In the legend, the ghost dog was supposed to have glowing eyes.”
“Perhaps you’ll get it back.” Bob sounded hopeful. “A thing like that would be difficult to sell.”
“Not to anyone who had no scruples and who knew Edward Niedland’s work,” said Prentice. “He was so young … so talented. There are people who would happily consort with thieves to get their hands on one of his creations.”
Jupe looked around the simple house. “Did he work here?” he asked. “Wouldn’t he need a furnace to work with molten glass?”
“My brother had a workshop in East Los Angeles,” said Charles Niedland. “That’s where he actually executed his work.”
“Weren’t there any other sculptures here?” asked Jupe. “Did your brother keep none himself? Or were they at the workshop?”
“Edward had a small collection, of his own work and other artists’, which he kept here at the house. I removed the pieces to a safer place after he died. It was pure chance that the Carpathian Hound was here when the burglar broke in.”
Fenton Prentice sighed.
“You see,” Charles Niedland continued, “my brother’s gallery show ended several days ago. He had borrowed pieces for it from other patrons, too, and I have been returning them. Late yesterday afternoon I came here, intending to deliver the Carpathian Hound to Fenton