Two stories up, Cheswick brushed off his paws (the spyglass had been dusty), pattered onto the newspaper Emmy had left behind, and read slowly, swinging his dark furry head from side to side.

He bared his yellow incisors and clipped out the society column with small, neat bites. And a moment later he shouldered the rucksack and was on his way to his beloved Miss Barmy, who was not nearly so far away as Maggie believed.