"I do not always follow you," said Dr. Vonk. "I wish you would speak plainer."
So far no human had been injured or disappeared—except for a little blood on the pate of Ozzie Murphy, on the lobes of Conchita when her gaudy earrings disappeared from her very ears, a clipped finger or so when a house vanished as the front door knob was touched, a lost toe when a neighborhood boy kicked at a can and the can was not; probably not more than a pint of blood and three or four ounces of flesh all together.
Now, however, Mr. Buckle the grocery man disappeared before witnesses. This was serious.
Some mean-looking investigators from downtown came out to the Willoughbys. The meanest-looking one was the mayor. In happier days he had not been a mean man, but the terror had now reigned for seven days.
"There have been ugly rumors," said one of the mean investigators, "that link certain events to this household. Do any of you know anything about them?"
"I started most of them," said Clarissa. "But I didn't consider them ugly. Cryptic, rather. But if you want to get to the bottom of this just ask me a question."
"Did you make those things disappear?" asked the investigator.
"That isn't the question," said Clarissa.
"Do you know where they have gone?" asked the investigator.
"That isn't the question either," said Clarissa.