It was approximately four o'clock by his personal time-keeping system when he finally heard the sound he had been listening for, but not daring to expect--the voice of the red-headed urchin, calling his dog's name in incredibly weary tones. In a moment the boy appeared, his face tear-streaked, his feet stumbling, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep. The stick was still pulling him, and the conical cap, by a miracle, still rested askew on his head. The rod lunged forward eagerly as soon as it pointed toward Hugh, and the boy stopped by the doorstep, the divining rod pointing in quivering triumph squarely at the puppy. The boy sat down in the street and began to bawl. "Now, now," said Hugh. "You've found your dog. Don't cry. What's the matter?" "I haven't had any sleep or any food," the boy snuffled. "I couldn't let go, and the dog could move faster than I could, so I've been pulled all over the city, and I'll bet it's all the Old One's fault, too--" His voice rose rapidly and Hugh tried to calm him down, a little abstractedly, for in the reference to the Old One Hugh had recognized the boy's real nature, and knew him for an ally. Wait till I tell Evelyn, he told himself, that I've seen an Archangel and one of the Cherubim face to face, and hatched plots with the Fallen! "I saw your dog, and figured probably you'd be along." "Oh, thank you, sir. I guess I'd have spent the rest of eternity chasing him if you hadn't held him until I could catch up with him." He looked angrily at the forked stick, which now lay inert and innocuous on the cobbled pavement. "I used the wrong spell, and it had to smell people. No wonder we could never get close enough to Fleet for him to hear me!" "Do you think you could make the rod work again?" "Oh, yes, sir. Only I never would." "I want to use it. Do you mind?" "I don't mind. It's my uncle's, but I can always cut another one. Only it won't work without the hat, and I took that from my uncle too. He's an Authority," the urchin added proudly. Hugh thought of Goethe's Sorcerer's Apprentice and grinned. "How come you didn't shake your head and knock it off when you got tired?" "Oh, the hat only starts it. After that it goes by itself. I just didn't want to lose my uncle's hat, that's all." "Good for you. Then suppose I borrow the hat for just a minute, and you grab it when the stick starts. I want to find a cat." The boy shook his head doubtfully. "I wouldn't want to do it myself, but it's your business. What kind of cat? I have to make up a spell." Hugh anticipated some difficulty in explaining what it was he wanted, but to his relief the boy had already recognized him as a transportee and understood at once. "All right. Put the hat on. Pick up the stick like I had it. That's it, one fork in each hand. Now then: