reaching down into a tub at his feet, held up a large piece of raw
liver. Peter almost went crazy, and I remembered suddenly that I had
forgotten to feed the poor beast for more than a day.

"Would you like it?" asked the gentleman. Peter sat up, as he had been
taught to do, and barked. The gentleman reached down again, got a
wooden platter from a stack of them at his feet, and placing the
liver on it, put it on the step. The whole thing was so neat and
businesslike that I could only gaze.

"That's a well-trained dog, madam," said the elderly gentleman,
beaming at Peter over his glasses. "You should not have neglected
him."

"The flood put him out of my mind," I explained, humbly enough, for I
was ashamed.

"Exactly. Do you know how many starving dogs and cats I have found
this morning?" He took a note-book out of his pocket and glanced at
it. "Forty-eight. Forty-eight, madam! And ninety-three cats! I have
found them marooned in trees, clinging to fences, floating on barrels,
and I have found them in comfortable houses where there was no excuse
for their neglect. Well, I must be moving on. I have the report of a
cat with a new litter in the loft of a stable near here."

He wiped his hands carefully on a fresh paper napkin, of which also
a heap rested on one of the seats of the boat, and picked up an oar,
smiling benevolently at Peter. Then, suddenly, he bent over and looked
at the stained rope end, tied to the stair-rail.

"What's that?" he said.

"That's what I'm going to find out," I replied. I glanced up at the
Ladleys' door, but it was closed.

The little man dropped his oar, and fumbling in his pockets, pulled
out a small magnifying-glass. He bent over, holding to the rail, and
inspected the stains with the glass. I had taken a fancy to him at
once, and in spite of my excitement I had to smile a little.

"Humph!" he said, and looked up at me. "That's blood. Why did you
_cut_ the boat loose?"

"I didn't," I said. "If that is blood, I want to know how it got
there. That was a new rope last night." I glanced at the Ladleys' door
again, and he followed my eyes.

"I wonder," he said, raising his voice a little, "if I come into your
kitchen, if you will allow me to fry a little of that liver. There's a
wretched Maltese in a tree at the corner of Fourth Street that won't
touch it, raw."

I saw that he wanted to talk to me, so I turned around and led the way
to the temporary kitchen I had made.

"Now," he