Mystery of the Pantomime Cat (14 page)

"Don't talk to me about
him"
said Alec. "We
all detest the fellow. Here you are, kids—catch! And I hope you can read my
signature!"

He threw them their books. Fatty opened his and saw a most
illegible scrawl that he could just make out to be "Alec Grant"—but
only just.

Zoe laughed. "He always writes like that. Nobody can ever
read his writing. I tell him he might just as well write 'Hot Potatoes' or
'Peppermint Creams' and nobody would know the difference. I wonder your mother
can ever read your letters, Alec."

"She can't," said Alec. "She waits till I get home
and then she gets me to read them to her. And I can't!"

Every one laughed. "Well, so long," said Alec, winding a
yellow scarf round his neck. "See you tomorrow. And, mind you none of you
knock the manager on the head tonight!”

The Pantomime Cat has a Tea Party.

The children thought they ought to go too. Fatty felt as if they
had stayed too long already. Then he remembered something.

"Oh—what about the Pantomime Cat? We haven't got
his
autograph.
Where is he?"

"Clearing up the stage, I expect," said Zoe.
"That's one of his jobs. But he won't sign your albums for you—poor old
Boysie can't write."

"Can't he,
really!"
said Bets, in amazement.
"But I thought he was grown-up—isn't he?"

"Yes—he's twenty-four," said Zoe. "But he's like a
kid of six, he can hardly read, either. But he's a dear, he really is. I'll go
and get him for you."

But before she could go, the Pantomime Cat came in. He walked on
his hind legs, and had thrown back the furry cat-skin head, so that it looked
like a grotesque hood.

He had a big head, small eyes, set too close together, teeth that
stuck out in front like a rabbit's, and a very scared expression on his face.

He came up to Zoe and put his hand in hers like a child.
"Zoe," he said. "Zoe must help Boysie."

"What is it, Boysie?" said Zoe, speaking as if Boysie
was a child. "Tell Zoe."

"Look," said Boysie, and turned himself round dolefully.
Every one looked—and saw a big split in poor Boysie's cat-skin, near the tail.
It had got much bigger since Bets had noticed it.

"And look," said Boysie, pointing to a split down his
tummy. "Zoe can mend it for Boysie?"

"Yes, Boysie, of course." said Zoe, kindly, and the Cat
slipped his hand in hers again, smiling up at her. He only reached to her
shoulder. "You're getting fat, Boysie," said Zoe. "Eating too
much, and splitting your skin!"

Boysie now saw the children for the first time and smiled at them
with real pleasure. "Children," he said, pointing at them. "Why
are they here?"

"They came to talk to us, Boysie," said Zoe. ("He
wouldn't understand what I meant if I said you wanted autographs," she
whispered to Fatty.)

Peter Watting and William Orr, tall and thin, now said good-bye
and went. Lucy White followed, leaving her wig of golden curls behind. Boysie
put it on and ran round the room, grinning, looking perfectly dreadful.

"See? He's just like a six-year-old, isn't he?" said
Zoe. "But he's so simple and kind—does anything he can for any of us. He's
very clever with his fingers—he can carve wood beautifully. Look—here are some
of the things Boysie has done for me."

She took down a row of small wooden animals, most beautifully
carved. Boysie, still in his golden wig, came and stood by them, smiling with
pleasure.

"Boysie! I think they're
beautiful,"
said Bets,
overcome with admiration. "How
do
you do such lovely carving? Oh,
look
at this little lamb—it's perfect."

Boysie suddenly ran out of the room. He came back with another
little lamb, rather like the one Bets

admired. He pressed it into her hand, smiling foolishly, his small
eyes full of tears.

"You have this," he said. "I like you."

Bets turned and looked at him. She did not see the ugly face, the
too-close eyes, the big-toothed mouth. She only saw the half-scared kindness
that lay behind them all. She gave him a sudden hug, thinking of him as if he
were a child much younger and smaller than herself.

"There! See how pleased the little girl is," said Zoe.
"That's nice of you, Boysie."

She turned to the others. "He's always like that," she
said. "He'd give away the shirt off his back if he could. You can't help
liking him, can you?"

"No," said every one, and it was true. Boysie was queer
in the head and silly, he was ugly to look at—but he was kind and sincere and
humble, he had a sense of fun—and you simply
couldn't
help liking him.

"I can't bear it when people are unkind to Boysie," said
Zoe. "Sometimes the manager is, and I just see red then. I did last
Friday, didn't I, Boysie?"

Boysie's face clouded over and he nodded. "You mustn't go
away." he said to Zoe, and put his hand in hers. "You mustn't leave
Boysie."

"He says that because the manager gave me notice on
Friday," said Zoe. "He's afraid I'll go. But I shan't. The manager won't
want to lose me really—though I'd like a bit of a rest. But he said this
afternoon he didn't mean what he said last Friday. He's a funny one. Nobody
likes him."

"I say—I suppose we really ought to go," said Fatty.
"Are you coming, Zoe—may we call you Zoe?"

"Of course," said Zoe. "Well, no, I won't go yet. I
must mend Boysie's cat-skin. I'll stay and have tea with him, I think. I say,
Boysie—shall we ask all these

nice children to stay to tea too?"

Boysie was thrilled. He stroked Zoe's arm, and then took Bets'
hand. "Boysie will make tea," he said. "You sit down."

"Boysie, aren't you going to take off your cat-skin?"
asked Zoe. "You'll be so hot—and you might split it even more."

Boysie paid no attention. He went off into a small cupboard-like
place, and they heard him filling a kettle.

"We'd
love
to stay," said Fatty, who thought Zoe
was just about the nicest person he had ever seen. "If we're no bother.
Shall I pop out and buy some buns?"

"Yes. That would be a lovely idea," said Zoe.
"Where's my purse. I'll give you the money."

"I've plenty, thank you," said Fatty, hastily. "I
won't be long! Coming, La try?"

He and Larry disappeared. Boysie watched for the kettle to boil,
which it soon did. Just as he turned off the gas Fatty and Larry came back with
a collection of jammy buns, chocolate cakes and ginger biscuits.

"There's a plate in the cupboard where Boysie is," said
Zoe. "My word—what a feast!"

Fatty went into the little cupboard. He watched Boysie with
interest. The little fellow, still in his cat-skin, had warmed the brown
teapot. He now tipped out the water from the pot and put in some tea.

"How many spoons of tea,
Zoe?"
he called.

"Oh, four will do," said Zoe. "Count them for him,
will you—he can't count very well."

"I can count four," said Boysie, indignantly, but
proceeded to put five in, instead. Then he poured boiling water into the pot
and put on the lid.

"Do you make tea every evening?" asked Fatty, and Boysie
nodded.

"Yes. He's good at making tea," said Zoe, as Boysie

carried the teapot in and set it down on the table. "He
usually makes it for us as soon as the show is over—and then he makes some for
the manager much later. Don't you, Boysie?"

To the children's alarm Boysie suddenly burst into tears. "I
didn't take him his tea. I didn't," he wept.

"He's remembering about last Friday," said Zoe, patting
Boysie comfortingly. "That policeman keeps on and on at him, trying to
make him say he took a cup of tea to the manager and Boysie keeps saying he
didn't. Though the manager says he
did. I
expect Boysie has got muddled
and has forgotten."

'Tell us about it, Boysie," said Fatty, rather thrilled at
getting so much first-hand information. "You don't need to worry about
talking to
us.
We're your friends. We know you didn't have anything to
do with what happened on Friday night."

"I didn't, did I?" said Boysie, looking at Zoe.
"You all went, Zoe. You didn't stay with Boysie like today. I was in my
cat-skin because it's hard to take off by myself. You know it is. And I went
into the back room where there's a fire!"

"He means the room behind the verandah," explained Zoe.
"There's an electric fire there that Boysie likes to sit by."

"And I saw you—and you—and you," said Boysie,
surprisingly, poking his paw at Fatty, Larry, and Pip. "Not you," he
added, poking Bets and Daisy.

"You never said that before," said Zoe, in surprise.
"That's naughty. Boysie. You
didn't
see these children."

"I did. They looked in the window," said Boysie. "I
looked at them too. I frightened them! They looked again and I waved to them to
tell them not to be frightened, because they are nice children."

The five children looked at one another.
They
knew

that Boysie was telling the truth. He
had
seen them that Friday
night—he
had
waved to them.

"Did you tell the policeman this?" asked Fatty,
suddenly.

Boysie shook his head. "No. Boysie didn't remember then.
Remembers now."

"What did you do after the children had gone?" asked
Fatty, gently.

"I made some tea," said Boysie, screwing up his face to
remember. "Some for me and some for the manager."

"Did you drink yours first?" asked Fatty. "Or did
you take
his
up first?"

"Mine was hot," said Boysie. "Very hot. Too hot. I
played till it was cool, then I drank it."

"Then
did
you pour out the manager's tea and take it to him?" asked Fatty. Boysie
blinked his eyes and a hunted look came over his face.

"No," he said. "No, no, no! I didn't take it, I
didn't, I didn't! I was tired. I lay down on the rug and I went to sleep. But I
didn't take the tea upstairs. Don't make me say I did. I didn't, I
didn't."

There was a long pause. Every one was wondering what to say. Fatty
spoke first.

"Have a jammy bun, every one? Here, Boysie, there's an
extra-jammy one for you—and don't you bother any more about that tea. Forget
it!"

Checking up the Alibis.

No more was said about Friday evening after that. It was quite
clear that talking about it upset Boysie terribly. Fatty was very puzzled
indeed. Boysie
had

taken up the tea—the manager said so quite definitely, because, as
now, he was still in his cat-skin and was quite unmistakable. Then what was the
point of Boysie denying it? Was he trying to shield somebody, in his foolish
way, by denying everything to do with the doped cup of tea?

If so—who was he trying to shield? Zoe? No! Nobody could possibly
suspect Zoe of drugging any one's tea, or robbing a safe. Nobody—except Goon!

It was imperative to check up all the other alibis. Tf there was a
single chink in any of them, that was probably the person Boysie was trying to
shield. Fatty made up his mind that every other alibi must be gone into the
next day without fail. If he couldn't find something definite, it looked as if
the poor old Pantomime Cat would be arrested, and Zoe too! Because Goon would
be sure that Zoe, whom Boysie obviously adored, was the person he was
shielding.

It was a curious tea-party, but the children enjoyed it. Towards
the end, a loud voice came down the stairs outside the room.

"What's all the row down there? Who's there? I can hear
your
voice, Zoe!"

Zoe went to the door. "Yes, I'm here. I'm stopping behind to
mend Boysie's cat-skin. It's all split. And there are a few children here, too,
who came for our autographs. They're having a cup of tea with me and
Boysie."

"You tell them to be careful Boysie doesn't put something in
their tea, then!" shouted the manager, and went back to his room, banging
the door loudly.

"Pleasant fellow, isn't he?" said Larry. "We met
him this morning. A very nasty bit of work."

"I couldn't agree more," said Zoe. "Well, dears,
you'd better go. Get out of your skin, Boysie. if you want me to mend it."

The children said good-bye, shaking hands with both Zoe and
Boysie. Boysie looked intensely pleased at all this ceremony. He bowed each
time he shook hands.

"A pleasure," he said to each of them. "A
pleasure!"

They all went to get their bikes, which they had left in the stand
inside the shed. "Well! Fancy getting asked inside, meeting every one, and
having tea with Zoe and Boysie!" said Fatty, pleased.

"Yes. And hearing his own story," said Larry, pushing
his bike out into the yard. "Do you believe him. Fatty?"

"Well, I know it's quite impossible that he shouldn't have
taken in that cup of tea, but yet I feel Boysie's speaking the truth,"
said Fatty. "I've never been so puzzled in my life. One minute I think one
thing and the next I think another."