“Just a-satisfyin’ myself,” explained the handmaiden, with a note of triumph in her voice, “about that there cat. ’Ere’s where I buried ’im, and ’ere’s where there ain’t no signs of ’is dead body. ’E’s come back to ’aunt us, that’s wot ’e ’as, and your uncle’ll be the next.”
“Don’t be so foolish,” snapped Dorothy. “You’ve forgotten the place, that’s all, and I don’t wish to hear any more of this nonsense.”
“’Oo was it?” asked Mrs. Smithers, “as come out of a warm bed at midnight to see as if folks wot was diggin’ for cats found anythink? ’T warn’t me, Miss, that’s wot it warn’t, and I take it that them as follers is as nonsensical as them wot digs. Anyhow, Miss, ’ere’s where ’e was buried, and ’ere’s where ’e ain’t now. You can think wot you likes, that’s wot you can.”
Claudius Tiberius suddenly materialised out of the surrounding darkness, and after sniffing at the edge of the hole, jumped in to investigate.
“You see that, Miss?” quavered Mrs. Smithers. “’E knows where ’e’s been, and ’e knows where ’e ain’t now.”
“Mrs. Smithers,” said Dorothy, sternly, “will you kindly fill up that hole and come into the house and go to bed? I don’t want to be kept awake all night.”
“You don’t need to be kept awake, Miss,” said Mrs. Smithers, slowly filling up the hole. “The worst is ’ere already and wot’s comin’ is comin’ anyway, and besides,” she added, as an afterthought, “there ain’t a blessed one of ’em come ’ere at night since your uncle fixed over the house.”