The popcorn rattled again upon the table top, and once more he heard the giggle. He wormed his way up the stairs in the shadow and reached the gallery. Here a jet of gas from the side wall gave some light. He saw the robed figure hanging over the bannister and in the act of throwing another handful of popcorn at the spot where the boy was supposed to be crouching.
Neale O’Neil crept forward from the top of the stairs, still on his hands and knees. He was likewise in the shadow, although he could see the figure ahead of him plainly.
“Meow!” crooned the boy, imitating a cat with remarkable ingenuity. “Meow!”
“Oh, mercy!” hissed a startled voice.
“Ma-ro-o-ow!” urged Neale O’Neil, repeating his feline success.
“Mercy!” ejaculated the whisperer. “That’s a strange cat.”
“Ma-row-ro-o-ow!” continued Neale, with a lingering wail.
“Here, kitty! kitty! kitty!” murmured the girl crouching by the bannister. “Oh, where are you? Poor kitty!”
Immediately Neale changed his tone and produced a growl that not only sounded savage but seemed so near that the startled girl jumped up with a cry:
“Oh! Oh! Neale!”