about.

"You haven't seen him, have you, Janice? You haven't seen my
Sam?"

"Your Sam?" murmured Janice, rather non-plussed for the moment.
"You don't mean the dog you bought of the butcher, do you, Miss
Peckham?"

"No, indeed. That's Cicero. But Sam, the cat. He's got black
and yellow on him, Janice. You've seen him, I know."

And suddenly Janice remembered that she had seen him. He had been
one of those cats tolled into the back kitchen by Arlo Junior.
Worse than all, Sam was the cat Olga Cedarstrom had hurt with a
lump of coal. She remembered that he was the last to escape when
she opened the kitchen door, dragging his injured leg behind him.

How could Janice tell her of this awful thing that had happened
to Sam? The poor cat had probably dragged himself off into some
secret place to lick his wounds --to die, perhaps.

"You've seen him! I know you have, Janice Day," cried the shrewd
maiden lady. "What have you done to poor Sam?"

"Why, Miss Peckham! I haven't done a thing to him," declared
Janice

Miss Peckham, however, had read the girl's face aright. She saw
that Janice knew something about the missing cat.