“Or else what?” Puppy #3 cried urgently. “Or else what?”

“That is the point, is it not?” Bones said coolly, relaxing backward on his haunches. After his cliffhanging “or else,” he had sauntered over to one of the wing chairs, turned it to face the room, and leapt up on it.

“What point?” I said, exasperated. “What point could you possibly be going on about?”

“Is there anything worse,” the dog said, looking quite satisfied with himself, “than a vague, open-ended ‘or else’? Is there anything more ominous than the blank space following an ‘or else,’ a space that the mind can only fill with all manner of horrible guesses based on fear?”

Well, when he put it like that …

“I can think of worse things!” Mr. Javier piped up, raising a turtle arm in the air to call for attention.

“You can?” the dog said, incredulous. Then he waited.

“I only said I ‘can,’” the turtle said, looking embarrassed, “meaning that I am sure I have the potential. I did not say that I am actually thinking of anything specific right this minute.”

“That is quite all right,” Bones said, “because I can.”

“You can?” I said. “Then why did you rhetorically ask us? Now look what you’ve done. You’ve confused and upset Mr. Javier!”

“He’ll get over it,” the dog said, reverting back to his usual dismissive ways when it came to anyone else’s feelings; or, really, feelings at all.

“The thing is,” Bones continued, “there was a worse thing!”

I stared back at him. Well, I certainly wasn’t about to give him a verbal prompt, not after he’d upset the turtle.

Actually, the turtle looked perfectly fine. Sometimes I like to at least try to rein the dog in so he doesn’t get too carried away thinking he can run roughshod over everybody.

“As bad as that ‘or else’ was,” the dog said, “poor Joe Fur was left to wonder: how did the note get inside his home? Someone must have been there while he slept. And if someone, or some ones, could get in once while he slept, was it not possible that it could happen again?”

The puppies, Mr. Javier and even I squirmed at this. What an awful thought!

An even more horrible thought occurred to me. Earlier, the squirrel had appeared on the ledge outside my bay window. That had been bad enough. But what if one day he were to gain entry? What if one day, at night, while I was sleeping, Professor Moriarty broke in here and –

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Bones said.

“Hmm?” I said.

“You’re thinking of squirrels,” he said.

I nodded.

“Specifically,” he said, “you’re thinking of Professor Moriarty.”

I nodded, more vehemently this time.

“Well, cut it out,” he said.

Then he turned to the others, continuing with his tale as though he’d never interrupted it to talk to me about the squirrel.

“And as bad as all of that was,” Bones said, “there was still worse to come. In addition to the threatening words, the note bore the number … 29.”

Wait. What?

“After all of this,” I said, confused, “receiving a threatening note, an ominous ‘or else,’ the idea of someone sneaking into your home while you sleep – how can a simple number be still worse?”

“Oh, but it was!” Bones said. “Why, it is all elementary. Do you not remember me saying that the Leader had given Joe Fur one month – 30 days – to decide whom Lucy should marry?”

“Of course I remember!” Then: “You mean … ”

“Yes. The clock was already ticking. The Leader was informing Joe Fur that he now had a mere 29 days left, or else. Even worse than that – ”

“Worse!”

“Each day thereafter, another slip of paper would appear, only these slips of paper no longer contained words, just the numbers in decreasing order, one decrease per day: 28, 27, 26, 25 – ”

“Stop!” I cried, covering my ears with my paws. I couldn’t stop imagining how horrible those notes must have been for Joe Fur and Lucy.

But even through my paws, I could hear Bones say, “That’s right, it was awful for the Furs. Soon, there were just two days left. But here is a wonderful thing: They still hoped for Hope.”

“They didn’t give up hope!” I said, happy on their behalf.

“They did not,” Bones said, “which is why it was doubly wonderful when, with just those two days left, Jefferson Hope returned.”

“Hope has arrived!” I said.

“He did!” Bones said. “And then he and Joe Fur made their plans to escape with Lucy before time ran out. They snuck out that very night, taking only what was necessary. At one point they hid in the shadows, overhearing two members of the Group talking – obviously about them; stuff about needing to keep a close lookout lest Lucy escape – and ending their conversation with a cryptic password. It meant nothing to our hopeful travelers. It did, however, come in handy when, almost safely away, they came across a sentry on the outskirts of town. They were able to get away by employing this cryptic password.”

He stopped abruptly there.

“So, they escaped!” I said, clapping my paws. “What a happy, Hope-y ending!”

“Well,” the dog added dryly, “not exactly.”