Chauncey

Chauncey sat in a patch of moonlight and thoughtfully licked his chops. The lace curtains cast a baroque shadowscape across his brindle coat, and an eddy of clear liquid shivered just inside one moist, pebbled nostril. Now that the wheels of his plan were in motion, he reflected, it all seemed so simple, belying the weeks of careful scheming that had lead him here.

Rousing himself, Chauncey waddled across the ocean of luxurious carpeting towards the snoring lump that was Mr. Blount. The man was excreting a slow river of drool down his unshaven cheek, a silver thread ambling past crumbs of custard, crumpet, and soggy tobacco. Chauncey sniffed the glass that lay just beyond Mr. Blount’s upturned hand. The dose of rohypnol had perhaps been excessive, but - Chauncey gave a derisive snuffle- it wasn’t as though the unkempt and hopelessly pedestrian Mr. Blount would taste the difference. “Fine stuff,” the man had said, swirling his glass and winking lewdly at the mistress. At eleven, Blount had risen and made his usual excuses, kissing the mistress’ hand wetly before going to fetch his coat from the drawing room, taking no notice of the French bulldog that silently followed him.

Chauncey approached the unmoving body, and carefully inserted his forepaw into the damp space between Blount’s hairy wrist and his cheap shirt. Slowly, Chauncey drew forth a familiar item- his mistress’ gold signet ring, which Blount had deftly slipped from her frail hand and secreted into his shirtsleeve. The ring that was only the latest item on a long list of missing treasures- the ivory letter opener, the garnet brooch, the elephant with sapphire eyes. The list will grow no longer, Chauncey thought calmly, as he dragged a heavy brocade cushion from the divan and across Blount’s face. No longer.

Prompt: Dog, gold, shirt
Word count: 300