She was probably imagining it. She was tired and, she reasoned, her eyes were probably tired, too. No wonder the marble looked like it was spinning—or rather the inside of the marble looked like it was spinning. Tess set the marble down on the tablecloth and it stopped spinning immediately as if it hadn’t been doing anything, at all.

Aunt Evie picked it up and examined it. “It’s very old,” she said and then she laughed. “Hmm,” after examining it longer, “it’s a cat’s eye marble and it was being played with by a cat.”

But Tess didn’t laugh. She was very relieved the marble wasn’t spinning when Aunt Evie picked it up . . .

“It looks as if it’s blown glass,” Aunt Evie said. “Hand-made. I wonder how old it is.” Aunt Evie set the marble back down on the tablecloth and it sat there very still, clear and still.

Tess wondered if the marble belonged to the boy she’d seen sitting at the table. And she couldn’t help it, she also wondered if the marble could do anything else besides spin. . . .

“I see you met Ginger,” a voice behind them said.

Tess looked up and saw the waiter. “Our hotel cat. She’s usually in the library. Shh,” said the waiter, “she’s not really supposed to be in here. We found her when she was a tiny kitten, tucked away in a laundry basket with no other kittens or cats around. Fed her myself from a bottle at first,” he said very proudly. “She’s only twelve weeks old and she is a little bit mischievous.” He said this word as if it had four syllables in it: mis-chi-ev-ous.

He leaned down gently, deftly put his hand under the tablecloth, and with true skill and confidence, came out with the young kitten resting on his palm. He barely hid the kitten under the lapel of his vest, one leg sticking out and a bit of a whisker and an ear. “Shh,” he said again. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Tess and Max and Aunt Evie. And then speaking to Ginger he said, “It’s off to the library with you. And if you’re good,” he whispered to the cat but loud enough so Tess and Max could hear him, “and you promise not to tell, I’ll bring you a bit of chicken and a bowl of Devonshire cream later.”

He stood listening. “What? No, of course not,” the waiter said, “not curried. Just plain chicken for you. There. Now, say goodbye.”

And the waiter scurried off leaving Tess to wonder if he really thought he was having a conversation with the cat or was just doing that for show. Tess and Max couldn’t help it. They both started laughing.