There’s only Cruella de Vil left of the family now. Yes, she owns it. She came down here some years ago and had the house painted black. It’s red inside, I’m told. But she never lived here. She lets the Baddun brothers have it rent free, as caretakers. I wouldn’t let them take care of any kennel of mine.€

Those were the last words Pongo heard, for, as the story ended, sleep wrapped him round. The Sheepdog stood looking down at the peaceful couple.

Well, they’re in for a shock,€ he thought, and then lumbered his way downstairs.

It was less than an hour later when Missis opened her eyes. She had been dreaming of the puppies, she had heard them barking and they were barking! She sprang out of the straw and dashed to the window. No pup was to be seen, but she could hear the barking clearly, it was coming from inside the black house. Then the barking grew louder, the door to the stableyard opened, and out came a stream of puppies.

Missis blinked. Surely her puppies could not have grown so much in less than a week? And surely she had not had so many puppies? More and more were hurrying out; the whole yard was filling up with fine, large, healthy Dalmatian puppies, but.

Missis raised her head in a wail of despair. These puppies were not hers at all! The whole thing was a mistake! Her puppies were still lost, perhaps starving, perhaps even dead. Again and again she howled in anguish.

Her first howl had wakened Pongo. He was beside her in a couple of seconds and staring at the yard full of milling, tumbling puppies. And they were still coming out of the house, rather smaller puppies now.

And then they saw him smaller, even, than they had remembered. Lucky! There was no mistaking that horseshoe of spots on his back. And after him came Roly Poly, falling over his feet as usual. Then Patch and the tiny Cadpig and all the others all well, all lashing their tails, all eager to drink at the low troughs of water that stood about in the yard.

Look, Patch is helping the Cadpig to find a place, said Missis delightedly. But what does it mean? Where have all those other puppies come from?

Dazed as he was with sleep, Pongo’s keen brain had gone into instant action. He saw it all. Cruella must have begun stealing puppies months before soon after that evening when she had said she would like a Dalmatian fur coat. The largest pups in the yard looked at least five months old. Then they went down and down in size. Smallest and youngest of all were his own puppies, which must obviously have been the last to be stolen.