Some relation of his, I think, said Pongo. The strident horn sounded again, and now two strong headlights could be seen in the distance. And she’s in that car.

Then I’d better put the light off,€ said the Staffordshire, neatly working the switch with his teeth. That’s better.€

Pongo’s heart seemed to miss a beat. Suddenly he knew that letting the pups get into the van had been a terrible mistake.

But the car’s headlights will shine in,€ he gasped. Our enemy will see the pups.€

Not black pups in a black van,€ said the Staffordshire. Not if they close their eyes.€

Oh, excellent suggestion! Quickly Pongo gave the command.

Pups, close your eyes or they will reflect the car’s headlights and shine like jewels in the darkness. Close them and do not open them, however frightened you are, until I give the word. Remember, your lives may depend on your obedience now. Close your eyes and keep them closed!

Instantly all the puppies closed their eyes tight. And now the car’s headlights were less than a quarter of a mile away.

Close your eyes, Missis,€ said Pongo.

And don’t forget to close your own, mate,€ said the Staffordshire.

Now the car’s powerful engine could be heard. The strident horn blared again and again, as if telling the van to get out of the way. Louder and louder grew the noise from the engine. The glare from the headlights was now so intense that Pongo was conscious of it through his tightly shut eyelids. Would the pups obey orders? Or would terror make them look towards the oncoming car? Pongo himself had a wild desire to do so and a wild fear that the car was going to crash into the van. The noise of horn and engine grew deafening; the glare seemed blinding, even to closed eyes. Then, with a roar, the great striped car was on them and past them, roaring on and on into the night!

You may open your eyes now, my brave, obedient pups,€ cried Pongo. And indeed they deserved praise, for not one eye had been opened.

That was quite a car, mate,€ said the Staffordshire to Pongo. You must have quite an enemy. Who are you, anyway? The local pack of soot-hounds?€ Then he suddenly stared very hard at Pongo’s nose. Well, swelp me if it isn’t soot! And it doesn’t fool me. You’re the Missing Dalmatians. Want a lift back to London?€

A lift? A lift all the way in this wonderful van! Pongo and Missis could hardly believe it. Swiftly the pups settled to sleep on the rugs and blankets used for wrapping furniture.

But why are there so many pups?€ said the Staffordshire. The newspapers don’t know the half of it, nor the quarter. They think there are only fifteen missing.