What Max Harper would have to say about his and Dulcie's part in Fulman's capture did not bear considering. Joe guessed he'd better come up with a good story-coach Clyde on it, and fill Wilma in. Set up a scenario about how these two cats got along so well with the pups, that when the pups got excited, the silly cats got excited, too, went kind of crazy-feline hysteria.

Sitting hidden in the grass, out of the way of the police, Joe and Dulcie watched the first rescue unit pull away, transporting Sam Fulman to the hospital. Two police guards rode with him.

"Look at the damage Fulman's done," Joe said. "Shot Harper in the arm, and Lucinda's lucky she isn't dead. Three men are dead at Fulman's hands-and for what? To line his greedy pockets. But the paramedics took care of him just like he was worth saving."

"Civilized," Dulcie said. "The result of thousands of years of civilization."

"I don't call that civilized, I call it silly. And if humans are so civilized, how come all the crime-the rise in murder statistics? Rape statistics, robbery, you name it." He looked at Dulcie intently. "If you think there's been progress, then how come the jails are so full?"

But Dulcie only shrugged; she was too tired to express an opinion on matters as complicated and diverse as human ambiguities.

Sitting close together, the cats watched Wilma hurry to retrieve Lucinda's car, preparing to follow the second ambulance, which was taking Lucinda to Emergency. Suddenly Dulcie crouched to race down the hill, to go with her.

But she stopped, turned to look at Joe. "Come on- don't you want to be with Lucinda?"

Joe licked her ear. "You go. I want to be sure Harper finds the bag-see you in Jolly's alley." And he was away after Harper, racing up through the grass as Harper climbed toward Hellhag Cave. Joe paused only once to look back, as Wilma pulled away behind the rescue unit; when he and Dulcie had faced danger together, he never liked to be parted from her.

But what could happen? He watched Clyde's yellow roadster spin a U-turn, following Wilma. The pups rode as sedately, now, as a pair of middle-aged sightseers; he wondered how long that subdued frame of mind would last. Only Harper's squad car remained, beside the highway, where one of the officers had put it after retrieving it from the trailer park. It looked lonely there, strangely vulnerable. Quickly, Joe followed Harper on up the hill.

As the captain stepped into the darkness of Hellhag Cave, Joe glimpsed a movement among the rocks.

Maybe it was only a shadow cast by the light from Harper's swinging torch, as the captain disappeared inside. Joe didn't wait to see. Swallowing back his fear of the place, he followed Harper.

24

JOE WATCHED the light of Max Harper's torch move quickly into Hellhag Cave, its bright arc slicing through the darkness. Joe took a step in, and another. Swallowing his distaste, he followed Harper, slipping along close to the wall, his whiskers brushing cold stone.

Harper moved slowly, studying each crevice until, ahead, a flash shone out between the stones as icy white as snow gleaming in the torchlight.

Before Harper touched the bag, he slipped on a pair of thin gloves. Carefully lifting out a letter, he held it by a corner, bright in the beam.

In a moment, as he read, that lopsided grin lit Harper's dour face, that smug, predatory smile that made Joe Grey smile, too.

Glancing around the cave, Harper bundled the bag inside his jacket. Instead of leaving, he moved deeper in, swinging his torch so the cave floor was washed in moving rivers of light. Joe could hear loose stones crunching under the captain's shoes. He remained still until Harper turned back, his beam seeking the mouth of the cave again.

Harper stopped before a narrow shelf. Joe heard him suck in his breath.

"Well, I'll be damned," Harper said softly.

Sliding closer, Joe reared up to look, cursing the great cat god who had given him white markings. If Harper flashed the torch in his direction, his white parts would shine like neon.

And even when he stood on his hind paws, he couldn't see what Harper had found; Harper's broad-shouldered, uniformed back blocked Joe's view. Slipping close behind Harper's heels, he peered around the captain's trouser legs.

Harper, bending over the stone shelf, was studying two small, dark objects. Barely touching them, he lifted one, placing it in a paper evidence bag. The billfold was thick and bulging, made of dark, greasy leather.

The black plastic tubing smelled like ether-laced pancake syrup. As Harper bagged it, and his light swung around, Joe slid into blackness, lowering his face over his paws and chest.

He didn't move until the light swung away, leaving a pool of night behind it. He looked out covertly at Harper.

Harper was grinning as if he'd just won the lottery. Folding the tops of the evidence bags and tucking them into his jacket beside the bulge of Fulman's letters, he was still smiling as he headed back for the entrance. Joe hurried out behind him, as pleased as Harper-but deeply puzzled.

There had been nothing on that shelf when he and Dulcie dragged the plastic bag into the cave. He remembered pausing there. The shelf had been empty. And certainly they couldn't have passed the stink of brake fluid without smelling it.

Stopping in the shadows of the cave's entrance, Joe watched Harper descend Hellhag Hill to his police unit.

Had Fulman hidden those objects in the cave, maybe been afraid to throw them in the ocean, afraid they'd wash up on the shore again, or someone would fish them out? Maybe Fulman didn't want to take time to bury them, and was wary of dumping them in some trash can-you read about that stuff, some homeless guy finding the evidence in a trash can.

So Fulman had stashed the brake line and the billfold in the cave?

But not in plain sight, not on that shelf.

Frowning, Joe stood up on his hind paws studying the dark, grassy hillside around him. Turning, he stared back at the mouth of the cave.

He trotted in again, listening and scenting out, studying the velvet dark. When nothing stirred, he hurried deeper in, forgetting his fear, sniffing along the cave walls, sniffing at the ledge where Harper had found the evidence.

Nosing at the stone shelf, he smelled not only Harper's familiar tobacco and gun-oil scent, and the sharp whiff of brake fluid, but, besides these, a yeasty, sweet kitten smell.

Looking deep into the cave, Joe Grey called to her.

There was no answering mew, no small voice coming out of the dark.

He was greatly amused and impressed that the kit had found those items. But where did she find them? And how did she know they were important?

What fascinating worlds of thought, Joe wondered, ran in that small, wild mind?

Again he called to her. Why was she so shy? When a third time he called and nothing stirred, when the blackness of the cave lay around him empty and still, he pressed back toward the cave's mouth, hungering for open space.

And there she was.

A small silhouette, black as soot, against the starry sky. A tiny being stretching as tall as she could against the sky's jeweled glow.

"Hello, Kit."

The kit purred.

He sat down beside her, at the cave's mouth. "What did you do back there, Kit?"

The kit's eyes widened, she cringed away from him.

"It's all right," Joe said. "You did just fine. Are you hungry?"

"Always hungry," said the kit.

He wanted to know where she had found the evidence and why she had put it on the ledge. He guessed his questions would wait. "Come on, I'll show you something to please you."

The kit followed him slowly at first, slinking along behind. Joe felt protective of her; he wanted to pat and wash her-and was deeply embarrassed at such maternal thoughts. Joe Grey, macho tomcat, wanting to mother some scruffy little hank of cat fur.