Free The Alley by Eleanor Estes

agree with the cats, liking something novel. Then terror clutched Connie's heart. Where was Wags? Mittens had slithered outdoors and was crouching beside the cart, sniffing the bags, seeing if there was fish, enjoying everything. But, where was Wags?

7. ARRIVAL OF THE POLICE
    "Wagsie!" Connie called gently. "Wagsie."
    Ordinarily, when Mama and Connie came home from the store, Wags was waiting at the door, ready to give them a welcome, partly loving, partly reproachful. How could they leave her? Never do it again!
    "Wagsie!" said Connie again.
    At last they heard a slow shuffling sound from way inside the house, the kitchen, probably, and a clinking of Wagsie's chain collar and license tag. She came to them with hanging head and, trembling as though she had chills and fever, she came outdoors. Her great moplike ears drooped and practically touched the ground. Not only was Wags frightened, she was ashamed. She sat down close to Mama, leaning against her legs for comfort. Her trembling continued off and on, as she recalled the terrible ordeal, no doubt. Mama looked Wagsie over carefully. She did not seem to be hurt. "Just her feelings," said Connie confidently. With heavy eyes looking down to the ground, blinking, she was a sad contrast to Mittens, whose upturned, piquant little face said, "This is great, isn't it? What now? What next?"

    Next, of course, were the police, and Mittens dashed in terror under the forsythia.
    The police car came tearing into Story Street with sirens screaming; it stopped with a screech in front of the Ives's house. Two policemen, one large, one medium-sized, got out of the car, drew their revolvers, and roughly demanded, "Where are the burglars?"
    Mama said, "I don't know. I don't know whether they are still in the house or not. We just got back from the store, and this is what we found." The two policeman cautiously entered the house. One pointed his revolver up the stairs, the other into the living room. "Come out, wherever you are," they said gruffly. "We have you covered," they said. ("It's just like a moving picture," thought Connie. "But it's not. It's real, it's real!")
    No one came out. The two policemen went upstairs immediately; proceeding cautiously, haltingly, and with pistols pointing upward, they disappeared from the view of those in front of the house. Now there was silence, complete silence, except for a gruff remark now and then—"Look under the bed, Pat. Make sure they're not under the bed." Or, "Ippy! Did you look in the closet, there?" Or, "Come out, you rat. You're covered." Between these remarks was the same total silence. It was as though they were absent-minded actors, needing a bit of prompting.
    Connie's heart pounded. "Wait 'til I tell Billy about this," she thought. She and Mama and Mrs. Stuart—Wags beside Mama, still shivering—remained in front of the house, talking and waiting for the two policemen to come out and say it was all right for them to go in now. Soon other neighbors came along; they wanted to know what had happened. To each of them, since they did not arrive at the same time, Mama had to relate all over again how she and Connie had been coming home from the A. & P. and how they had seen these four, or three men, or perhaps five—she had not thought to count them up; there seemed to be a lot of them, anyway—the whole story, including the burning butt, still lying on the floor of the vestibule, not to be touched, she cautioned, for it might be an important clue.
    Suddenly Mama broke off, turned to Charlotte Stuart, and said, "Charlotte! Does it strike you that those two policemen have been upstairs in our house an awfully long time? I thought that all the police would do right now would be—go up through the house and then, when they saw no one was there, tell me, and I would go and see what, if anything, was taken. After all, the burglars may have been those men Connie and I saw, and for all I know, they may not have had time to take one thing,