“I have the finder here,” Bill told them; stepped to the door.
On legs that shook my agitated George advanced.
Mr. Vivian Howard drew forth his suffering finger with a loud pop; made three hasty strides to George; took the cat. “Abishag!” he cried in ecstasy, “Abishag!”
In very gloomy tones Mr. Bitt announced that he was bust. “Well, I'm bust!” he said. “I'm bust. It is your cat, eh?”
Mr. Vivian Howard nodded the head he was bending over his Abishag.
Bill signalled to George a swift wink. George drew a handkerchief; wiped from his face the beaded agony.
Mr. Bitt dropped heavily into his seat. “Of course I'm very glad, Mr. Howard,” he announced stonily. “Very glad. At the same time—at the same time—” He turned upon George with a note that was almost savage. “You, sir!” he cried.
George started painfully.
“How the—How did you come to find this cat?”
George forced his pocket handkerchief into his trousers pocket; rammed it down; cleared his throat; ran a finger round the inside of his collar; cleared again; said nothing.