The whole reading public were well aware of Mr. Howard's devotion to this valuable pet. Scarcely a portrait of Mr. Howard was extant that did not show Abishag the Shunamite by his side. It was a melancholy coincidence that in the interview granted to the _Daily_ by Mr. Howard last Saturday he had told that Abishag had sat upon his table while every single word of the manuscript of “Amy Martin” was penned. He had admitted that she was his mascot. Without her presence he could not compose a line. _Daily_ readers would imagine, then, Mr. Howard's prostration at his appalling loss. The occurrence had taken place on Monday night. As _Daily_ readers were well aware, Mr. Howard had for some weeks been staying at the house of his widowed mother in Sussex Gardens. Nightly at nine it had been his custom to stroll round the gardens before settling down for three hours' work upon “Amy Martin.” During his stroll Abishag would slip into the gardens, meeting her master upon his completion of the circuit. According to this practice, Mr. Howard, on Monday night, had followed his usual custom. He believed he might possibly have walked a little slower than usual as he was pondering deeply over his final revise of the proof of “Amy Martin.” Otherwise his programme was identical with its usual performance. But upon his return the cat was not to be found. Theories, suggestions, investigations that had already been made, followed. The _Daily_ abundantly proved that the cat had not strayed but had been deliberately stolen by someone well acquainted with Mr. Howard's nightly promenade; pointed out that this second outrage showed that no one possessing a valuable cat was safe from the machinations of a desperate gang; asked, Where are the police? and concluded with the pica sub-head: “DAILY” OFFER. The _Daily,_ it appeared, on behalf of the whole reading public of Great Britain, the Colonies, America, and the many Continental countries into whose tongues Mr. Howard's novels had been translated, offered 500 pounds to the person who would return, or secure the return of, Abishag the Shunamite, and thus restore peace to the heart of England's premier novelist, whose new story, “Amy Martin,” would start in the _Daily_ on Monday week. A sketch-map of Sussex Gardens, entitled “Scene of the Outrage,” showed, by means of dotted lines, (A) Route taken by Mr. Vivian Howard; (B) Route into Gardens taken by cat; (C) Supposed route taken by thief. Mr. Henry T. Bitt had achieved a mammoth splash. IV. The golden head and the head of brown lifted simultaneously from the paper; stared towards Bill, pacing, smoking. Tremendous possibilities flickered in George's mind; made his voice husky. “Bill,” he asked, “do you believe that cat is this Abishag--Vivian Howard's Abishag?”