Mystery of the Pantomime Cat (17 page)

John James considered. "Well, I should think that wretched
picture must have gone wrong at least four times," he said. "I
remember looking at the clock once or twice—once I got woken up at quarter to
seven, and another time at ten past. I remember wondering where on earth I was
when I woke up then. Thought I was in bed at home!”

"Bit of a boring evening for you," said Fatty, watching
Pip take out his note-book and do a bit of checking up on times. He nodded
reassuringly to Fatty. Yes, John James' alibi was safe all right. There was no
doubt at all that he had been in the cinema that evening, and had been awakened
each time the picture broke, by the noise of the impatient people around.

"Yes. It was boring," said John James. "But it was
something to do. Help yourself to my cherry cake. Do. There's plenty."

The talk turned to the robbery at the theatre.

"Who do
you
think did it?" asked Fatty.

"I haven't a notion," said John James. "Not a
notion. Boysie didn't. I'm sure of that. He hasn't the brains or the pluck for
a thing of that sort. He's a harmless sort of fellow. He just adores Zoe—and
I'm not surprised. She's sweet to him."

They talked for a little while longer and then Fatty got up and
shook the crumbs off himself. "Well, thanks for letting us picnic with
you, Mr. James," he said. "We'll have to be going now. Are you coming
too?"

"No. I'll sit here a bit longer," said John James.
"There's going to be a grand sunset later on."

The Find-Outers went down the hill, with Buster capering along on
his short legs. "Well," said Fatty, when they were out of hearing,
"John James is out of

our list of Suspects. His alibi is first-rate. He was in the
cinema all right on Friday evening. Gosh, this mystery is getting deeper and
deeper. I'm stumped!"

"Oh
no,
Fatty," said Bets, quite shocked to hear
Fatty say this. "You
can't
be stumped! Not with your wonderful
brains!"

Defeat—and a Brainwave/

Fatty racked his brains that night, but to no effect. However much
he thought and thought, he could see no solution to the mystery at all. He was
certain Boysie hadn't done the job. He was also quite certain that Zoe, whose
alibi was a little shaky, had had nothing to do with it either. Every one else
had unshakable alibis. It was true they hadn't checked Alec Grant's, but Fatty
had looked up a local paper and had seen a report of the one-man concert that
Alec had given on the Friday evening at Sheepridge.

"The report in the paper is a good enough alibi," he
said to the others. "We needn't bother any more about Alec. But
who
is the culprit? Who did the
job?"

In desperation he went down that evening to talk to P.C. Pippin.
He was there, walking up and down Goon's little back garden, smoking a pipe. He
was pleased to see Fatty.

"Any news?" said Fatty. "I suppose Goon's
out?"

"Yes, thank goodness," said Pippin, feelingly.
"He's been at me all day long about something or other. Pops in and out on
that bike of his, and doesn't give me any peace at all. He's gone down to see
Boysie again now. I'm very much afraid he'll scare him into a false
confession."

"Yes. I'm afraid of that too," said Fatty. "What

about Zoe? Does Goon think she had anything to do with it?"

"I'm afraid he does," said Pippin. "He's got that
handkerchief of hers with Z on, you know—that's one of his main pieces of
evidence."

"But that's nonsense!" said Fatty. "The
handkerchief might have been on that verandah for days! It doesn't prove she
was there that night."

"Goon thinks it does," said Pippin. "You see, he
has found out that the cleaner swept that verandah clean on Friday afternoon at
four o'clock! So the hanky must have been dropped after that."

Fatty bit his lip and frowned. That was very bad indeed. He hadn't
known that. Of
course
Goon thought Zoe had crept to that verandah that
evening and been let in by Boysie, if he found a hanky there with Z on—a hanky
which must have been dropped after four o’clock! That was a very nasty bit of
evidence indeed.

"What annoys Goon is that Zoe keeps on denying it's her
hanky," said Pippin. "Says she's never seen it before. It's a pity
it's got Z on—such an unusual initial."

"I know," groaned poor Fatty, feeling very much inclined
to make a clean breast of how he had planted the handkerchief and all the other
"clues" on the verandah himself. Well—if Goon did arrest Zoe and
Boysie, he would certainly
have
to own up. He turned to Pippin.

"Telephone me. Pippin, if you hear any serious news—such as
Goon getting a false confession from Boysie—or making an arrest," he said.

Pippin nodded. "I certainly will. What have
you
been
doing about the mystery? I bet you haven't been idle!"

Fatty told him how he had checked up all the alibis

and found them unshakable—except for Zoe's. He was feeling very worried
indeed. It would be awful if Goon solved the mystery the wrong way—and got the
wrong persons! If only Fatty could see a bit of daylight. But, he couldn't.

He went back home, quite depressed, which was very unusual for
Fatty. Larry telephoned him that evening to find out if he had heard anything
fresh from Pippin.

Fatty told him all he knew. Larry listened in silence.

For once Fatty was completely at a loss. There didn't seem
anything to do at all. "I don't see
what
we can do," he said,
miserably. "I'm absolutely stuck. Fat lot of good we are at detecting!
We'll have to break up the Find-Outers Band if we can't do better than
this."

"Come up at ten tomorrow and have a meeting," said
Larry. "We'll all think hard and talk and go over absolutely everything.
There's something we've missed, I'm sure—some idea we haven't thought of.
There's no mystery without a solution, Fatty. Cheer up. We'll find it!"

But before ten o'clock the next day came, the telephone rang, and
Pippin relayed some very bad news to Fatty.

"Are you there? I've only got a minute. Mr. Goon has got a
confession from Boysie! And Zoe's in it too! Apparently Boysie said he and Zoe
worked the thing together. He let Zoe in at the verandah door, they made the
tea, Boysie took the cup up with the dope in to the manager — then when he fell
asleep, Zoe went up and robbed the safe. She apparently knew where the key was
and everything."

Fatty listened in horror. "But, Pippin!
Pippin.'
Boysie
couldn't have done it—nor could Zoe. Goon's
forced
that confession out
of a poor fellow who's so

queer in his head he doesn't really know what he's saying."

There was a pause. "Well, I'm inclined to agree with
you," said Pippin. "In fact—well, T shouldn't tell you this, but I
must—I think from what Goon has let slip, he
did
force that false
confession from Boysie, poor wretch. Now, see here, I'm helpless. I can't go
against Goon. You're the only one that can do anything. Isn't Inspector Jenks a
great
friend of yours? Won't he believe what you say, if you tell him
you think there's been a mistake?"

"But I haven't any
proof,"
wailed Fatty.
"Now, if I
knew
who the robber was, and could produce him, with
real evidence, the Inspector would listen to me like a shot. I'll go and see
the others, and see what they think. If we can't think of anything better, I'll
cycle over to the next town and see the Inspector myself."

"Well, you'd better make . . ." began Pippin, and then
Fatty heard the receiver being put back with a click. He guessed that Goon had
come in. He sat by the telephone and thought hard. This was frightful. Poor
Zoe. Poor Boysie. What in the world could he do to help them?

He tore of! to Pip's on his bicycle. The others were there
already. They looked gloomy—and they looked gloomier still when Fatty told them
what Pippin had said.

"It's serious," said Larry. "More serious than any
other mystery we've tackled. What can we do, Fatty?"

"We'll go through all the Suspects and the Alibis, and run
through all we know," said Fatty, getting out his note-book. "I've
got everything down here. Listen whilst I read it—and think, think, think
hard
all the time. As Larry says—we've missed something—some clue, or some
evidence that would help us. There's

something very wrong, and probably the explanation is sticking out
a mile—if we could only
see
it'"

He began to read through his notes—the list of Suspects. The alibi
they had each given. The checking of all the alibis. Boysie's account of the
evening of the crime. The manager's own account. The dislike that each member
of the show felt for the manager, which would give each one of them a motive
for paying him out. Everything in his note-book Fatty read out, clearly and
slowly, and the Find Outers listened intently, even Buster sitting still with
ears cocked.

He finished. There was a long pause. Fatty looked up. "Any
suggestions
^?
" he asked, not very hopefully.

The others shook their heads Fatty shut his notebook with a snap
"Defeated'" he said, bitterly. "Beaten. All we know is that out
of the seven people who are Suspects, the two who
could
have done it,
didn't—Boysie and Zoe—we
know
they didn't. They're incapable of doing
such a thing. And the others, who
might
have done it, all have
first-class alibis. How
can
the Pantomime Cat have done the deed when it
isn't in his nature to do it?"

"It almost makes you think it must have been somebody else in
Boysie's skin," said Bets.

The others laughed scornfully, "Silly!" said Pip, and
Bets went red.

And then Fatty went suddenly and inexplicably mad. He stared at Bets
with fixed and glassy eyes. Then he smacked her hard on the shoulder. Then he
got up and did a solemn and ridiculous dance round the room, looking as if he
was in the seventh heaven of delight.

"Bets'" he said, stopping at last
"Bets!
Good,
clever, brainy old Bets. She's got it! She's solved it! Bets, you deserve to be
head of the Find-Outers! Oh my word, Bets, why, why, why didn't I think of it
before?"

The others all stared at him as if he was out of his mind.
"Fatty, don't be an ass. Tell us what you mean," said Pip, crossly
"What's Bets been so clever about? For the life of me, I don't know!"

"Nor do I," said Larry. "Sit down, Fatty, and
explain."

Fatty sat down, beaming all over his face. He put his arm round
the astonished Bets and squeezed her. "Dear old Bets—she's saved Boysie
and Zoe. What brains!"

"Fatty!  
Shut up and tell us what you mean!" almost yelled Pip in
exasperation.

"Right," said Fatty. "You heard what young Bets
said, didn't you? She said, 'It almost makes you think it must have been
somebody else in Boysie's skin.' Well!
Well, I ask you! Can't you
see that's the solution? Turnip-heads, you don't see it yet!"

"I'm beginning to see," said Larry, slowly. "But
you see it
all,
Fatty, obviously. Tell us."

"Now, look here," said Fatty "Boysie says he did
not
take the tea in to the manager, doesn't he?' But the manager swears he
did.
And why does he swear that?
Because Boysie, he says, was wearing
his cat-skin. All right. Whoever brought the tea was certainly the Pantomime
Cat—but as the manager never saw who was
inside
the skin, how does he
know it was Boysie?"

The others listened in amazement.

"And as it happens, it
wasn't
Boysie!" said
Fatty, triumphantly "Let me tell you what
I
think happened that
night, now that Bets has opened my eyes."

"Yes, go on, tell us," said Pip, getting excited as he
too began to see what Fatty was getting at.

"Well—the theatre cast all departed, as we know, at half-past
five, because we saw them go," said Fatty. "Only Boysie was left,
because he lives there, and the manager was upstairs in his office.

"Now, there was a member of the cast who had a grudge against
the manager, and wanted to pay him out. So that night, after we had gone home
from our planting of false clues, this person came silently back—let himself in
secretly, because Boysie didn't see him or he would have said so—and hid till
he saw Boysie making the tea. He knew that Boysie always made tea and took a
cup to the manager.

"Very well. Boysie made the tea, and poured himself out a
cup. But he didn't drink it because it was too hot. He waited till it was
cooler. And the hidden person slipped out, and put a sleeping-draught into
Boysie's cup.

"Boysie drank it, felt terribly sleepy, went into the
verandah room and snored by the fire. The hidden person then made sure that
Boysie was doped and wouldn't wake up—and he
stripped the skin off Boysie…
"

"And put it on himself!" cried all the others together.
"Oh,
Fatty
!"

"Yes—he put it on himself. And made a cup of tea for the
manager, putting into it a sleeping-draught of course—and up the stairs he
went! Well, how could the manager guess it was any one but Boysie in his
Pantomime Cat-skin! Wouldn't
any
one think that?"