He turned round: "Oh, she's just had kittens, has she?
That probably accounts for the whole thing." Mrs.Crofton roused herself.

"I do hope that horrible cat will be killed at once," she cried hysterically.

"I can't stay in Beechfield if she's left alive." Dr.O'Farrell answered soothingly, "Don't you fret, Mrs.Crofton.

She's a vicious brute, and shot she shall be." No one noticed that Timmy had heard every word of this conversation; no one noticed the expression on his face.
It had been arranged that the doctor should take Mrs.Crofton home in his car, and that only when she was comfortably in bed should those ugly little wounds be properly dressed.
As the doctor was hurrying down the passage into the hall, he was surprised to see Timmy at his elbow and to hear the boy's voice pipe up: "If my cat's not mad, she won't have to be killed, doctor, will she ?" He asked the question in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone.
"Yes, my little friend, mad or not mad, she's deserved death--and no one must go near her till the fell deed is done!" And then, as he suddenly caught sight of Timmy's strained, agonised face, he added kindly: "She'll be in the cats' heaven before she knows she's touched.

I'll come down in the morning and I'll shoot her through the window myself--I'm a dead shot, Timmy, my boy." As Janet came along, Timmy burst out crying, and his mother, distracted, turned to Radmore.