“Where does Trotman hang out?” asked Radmore.  “Shan’t we have a devil of a difficulty in knocking him up?”

“I don’t think we shall,” said his small companion, confidently.  “You see there must always be some sick animal for someone to sit up with.  I’d rather be nurse to a dog than to a woman, wouldn’t you?”

They turned into the steep road leading into the town, flashing past shuttered villas set in gardens, till they reached a labyrinth of quaint, narrow, walled thoroughfares dating from the 18th century.

“We’re very near now,” said Timmy.  “Isn’t it funny, Godfrey, to feel that everybody’s asleep but us?” They had come to a corner where high walls enclosed what might once have been the kitchen garden of a Georgian manor-house.

“Here it is!” cried the boy.

Radmore stopped the car and then he jumped out and struck a match.  Over a door, set in the wall, stood out in clear lettering the words, “John Trotman, Veterinary Surgeon.”  Feeling a little doubtful of what their reception would be like, he pulled the bell.  There was a pause, a long pause, and then they heard the sound of light, quick footsteps, and the door was unlocked.

“Who’s there?  What is it?” came in a woman’s voice, and a quaint figure, dressed in a short, dark dressing-gown, and looking not unlike Noah’s wife, appeared holding a lantern in her hand.  She had a kindly, shrewd face, and when Radmore said apologetically, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the matter is really urgent, and we’ve brought a sick animal many miles in order that it may benefit by Mr. Trotman’s skill,” her face cleared, and she said cordially:  “All right, sir, come right in.”

As they walked along through a curious kind of trellised tunnel, Timmy carrying Josephine and her kittens, there arose an extraordinary chorus of sounds in which furious barking predominated.

“You have a regular menagerie here,” said Radmore, smiling.

“Why, yes, sir,” she answered simply, “but they’ll all quiet down after a bit.  They’re startled like, hearing strange footsteps.”

She led them into the house, and so through into a pleasant little parlour, full of the good 18th Century furniture which may still be found in the older houses of an English country town.  Sporting prints—­some of considerable value—­hung on the walls.  There was still a little fire alight in the deep grate, throwing out a warmth that was comforting to both the man and the boy.

“If you’ll wait here, I’ll get my husband.”

While Mrs. Trotman had left the room, Radmore remarked:  “I’ve made up my mind what to say to Trotman, so please don’t interrupt.”

And Timmy listened silently to the explanation his godfather gave of Josephine’s strange behaviour of the night before.  It was an explanation that squared with the facts—­at any rate, according to the speaker’s point of view—­for Radmore told the famous vet that the cat, upset by the sight of a strange dog, had flown at a lady and bitten her.  He added frankly that the doctor had suggested that the animal should be kept under observation, and then he managed to convey that money was no object, as the cat was a cherished pet sent from France during the War.