Mystery of the Pantomime Cat (5 page)

He couldn't believe his eyes.
Was
it a cat? Yes—

there were its ears—and there was its tail lying beside it on the
hearth-rug.

Pippin gazed into the window at the great, furry creature outlined
by the glow of the fire. It couldn't be a gorilla, could it? No, people
wouldn't be allowed to keep a gorilla like that. Besides, it looked more like a
cat than anything else.

Pippin was just about to give a loud exclamation when he stopped
himself in time. Of course! It must be Dick Whittington's Cat—the one that
acted in the skit in the pantomime. He hadn't seen it himself, but he had heard
about it. Funny the cat keeping its skin on like that—because it was really
somebody inside it. You'd think he'd want to take the hot skin off as soon as
he could!

Pippin wondered if the meeting, whatever it was, would take place
if there was that cat in the room near by. But perhaps the meeting would be in
the car-park. In that case would it be much good him climbing on the verandah
roof? He wouldn't hear a thing.

Pippin debated with himself. He cautiously switched on his torch
and flashed it round the verandah floor. And he saw the clues!

His eyes brightened as he saw the cigarette-ends, the matches, and
the pencil-shavings. Somebody had been here before—quite often too, judging by
the cigarette-ends. The verandah must certainly be the meeting-place. Perhaps
the cat was in the plot too. That was certainly an idea I

Carefully Pippin picked up the cigarette-ends, the matches, and
even the pencil shavings. He put them all into envelopes. He then found the
torn time-table page, blown against the side of the verandah, and was extremely
interested in the underlined Sunday train.

He looked round and found the handkerchief with

Z on it, and wondered it it could be the letter N sideways. Pippin
could not for the life of him think of any name beginning with Z, not even the
ones the children had thought of!

Then he spotted the bit of navy-blue cloth caught on a nail. Aha!
Oho!
That
was the most valuable clue of all. Find somebody with a hole
in a navy-blue coat and you were getting somewhere!

Pippin took another cautious look into the window of the room at
the back of the verandah. The great cat was still lying in front of the
electric fire. Very strange—especially if you considered that the cat wasn't
really a cat but a human being inside a cat-skin—or a furry skin of some sort.
As he watched, Pippin saw the cat move a little, get more comfortable and
apparently settle itself to sleep again.

"Funny creature," thought Pippin, still puzzled, but
very much relieved to see the cat move. "I sort of feel if a mouse ran
across the room, the cat would be after it—though I know it's not a real cat!"

He decided that it was quite time he climbed up through the hole
in the verandah roof, and sat on the window-sill of the room above. The men
might come at any moment now—one of them might be early—you never knew I It
wouldn't do for him to be seen.

With all his clues safely in his pocket Pippin heaved himself up
through the hole in the roof. He felt his way to the window-sill and sat down
on it. It was hard and cold, and much too narrow to be comfortable. Pippin
resigned himself to a long and uneasy wait.

He had not been there more than a few moments when he heard a very
queer sound. Pippin stiffened and listened. It sounded to him very like a
groan. But where could it be coming from? The room behind him was in black
darkness. There was nobody near him out of doors as far as he knew—and if it
was

the cat before the fire making a noise, how could he
possibly
hear
that? He couldn't!

The noise came again, and Pippin felt most peculiar. There he was,
sitting on a narrow window-sill in the dark, waiting for rogues to meet down
below—and groans sounding all round him I He didn't like it at all.

He listened, holding his breath. The groan came again. It was
behind
him! Pippin suddenly felt sure of that. Well, then, it must be in the
room
behind him! Pippin felt round the window, meaning to open it. But it was
shut and fastened from inside.

Pippin remembered his torch. He took it from his belt and switched
it on, so that the light shone into the room behind. Its beam swung slowly
round the room—and then came to rest on something very queer.

A man was sitting at a desk. He had fallen forward, his face on
his out-stretched arms. Beside him was a cup, overturned in its saucer, the
spoon nearby on the table. Pippin stared in horror.

Then the beam picked out something else. A big wall-mirror was
standing on the floor, reflecting the light of the torch. A large hole showed
in the wall near by, the place from which the mirror had been removed. A safe
had been built in behind the mirror—but it was now empty, and the safe-door was
swinging open.

"Thieves! A robbery!" said P.C. Pippin, and rose to the
occasion at once. He doubled his hand in folds of his big handkerchief and
drove his fist through the window I P.C. Pippin was on the job!

A Mystery Begins.

The five children knew nothing about P.C. Pippin's exciting night,
of course. Pip and Bets were asleep in bed when he smashed the window at the
back of the Little Theatre, and Larry and Daisy had been told they could listen
to the nine o'clock news, and then go to bed. Fatty had been in his room trying
out a wonderful new Aid to Disguise—little pads to put inside the cheeks and
make them fat!

“I'll try these tomorrow," thought Fatty, with a grin.
"I'll put them in before breakfast and see if any one notices."

Fatty went to bed wondering if P.C. Pippin had found the clues he
had spread about the verandah, and how long he had waited for the mythical
meeting. Poor old Pippin—he might have waited a long time!

If Fatty had only known what was happening he would never have
gone off so peacefully to bed that night—he would have been snooping round the
Little Theatre, looking for
real
Clues! But all he had done was to play
a trick on P.C. Pippin that had placed that gentleman right on the Spot—the
very Spot where a burglary had taken place not so long before. Lucky Pippin!

Next day at breakfast Fatty put in his new Aid to Disguise—the
cheek-pads that forced out the soft part of his cheeks and made him look
plumper than ever. His father, buried behind his paper, didn't seem to notice
any difference. He always thought Fatty was too plump anyhow. But his mother
was puzzled. Fatty looked different. What was it that made him

look strange? It was his cheeks! They were quite blown out.

"Frederick—have you got toothache?" suddenly asked his
mother. "You're cheeks are very swollen."

"Oh no. Mother," said Fatty. "My teeth are quite
all right."

"Well, you don't seem to be eating as much as usual, which is
very queer, and certainly your cheeks look swollen," persisted his mother.
"I shall ring up and make an appointment with the dentist."

This was really very alarming. Fatty didn't want the dentist
poking round his mouth and finding holes in his teeth. He felt quite certain
that even if there wasn't a hole the dentist would make one with that nasty
scrapey instrument of his.

"Mother—do believe me—not one of my teeth has holes in,"
said Fatty, desperately. "I ought to know."

"Well, then, why are your cheeks so puffed out?" asked
his mother, who never could leave a subject alone once she had really started
on it. She turned to his father. "Don't
you
think Frederick's
cheeks are swollen?"

His father glanced up in an absent-minded manner. "Always
does look too fat," he said. "Eats too much." Then to Fatty's
relief he went on reading his newspaper.

"I'll ring up the dentist immediately after breakfast,"
said Fatty's mother.

In desperation Fatty put his hands to his mouth and removed two
cheek-pads—but instead of being pleased that his cheeks were now no longer swollen,
his mother cried out in disgust. "Frederick! How
can
you behave
like that! Removing food from your mouth with your fingers! What
is
the
matter with you this morning? You'd better leave the table."

Before Fatty could explain about the cheek-pads.

his father gave an exclamation. "Well, well! Listen to this
in the paper. 'Last night it was disclosed that the manager of the Little
Theatre, in Peterswood, Bucks., was found drugged in his office, and the safe
in the wall behind him was open, the contents having been stolen. The police
already have one suspect in their hands.'"

Fatty was so astounded to hear this that he absent-mindedly put
his cheek-pads into his mouth, thinking they were bits of bread, and began to
chew them. He simply couldn't believe the news. Why, he and the others had
actually been hanging round the Little Theatre half the evening, and they had
seen nothing at all—except the Pantomime Cat!

"Could I see the piece. Dad?" asked Fatty, wondering why
the bread in his mouth was so tough. He suddenly realized that it wasn't
bread—ugh, how horrible, he had been chewing his cheek-pads! And now he didn't
dare to remove them again in case his mother accused him of disgusting manners
once more. It was very awkward.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Frederick," said his
mother. "And of course you can't have your father's paper. You can read it
when he has finished with it."

Very fortunately at that moment the telephone bell rang. The
house-parlourmaid answered it and came to fetch Fatty's mother. So Fatty was
able to remove the half-chewed cheek-pads and put them into his pocket. He
decided never to wear them again at meal-times. He glanced longingly at his
father's paper. Ah—he had folded it over again and the bit about the robbery
was on the back, but upside down. Fatty managed to read it two or three times.
He began to feel very excited.

Would it be a Mystery? Suppose they hadn't got

the right Suspect? Then the Five Find-Outers could get on to it at
once. Fatty felt that he couldn't possibly eat any more breakfast. He slid away
quietly from the table before his mother came back. His father didn't notice
him go.

Fatty flew off to Pip's at once. Larry and Daisy would be along
soon, for they had planned a meeting there. Pip and Bets had a fine big playroom
of their own, where they were not often disturbed, and it made a very good
meeting-place.

Pip and Bets had heard nothing of the great news. Fatty told them,
and they were amazed. "What! A robbery committed last night at the Little
Theatre! Did it happen whilst we were there?" cried Pip, in excitement.
"Here's Larry, with Daisy. I say, Larry, heard the news about the Little
Theatre Robbery?"

Larry and Daisy had heard all about it. They knew even more than
Fatty because Janet, their cook, knew the woman who cleaned the Little Theatre,
and had got some news from her, which she had passed on to Larry and Daisy.
Larry said Janet felt certain that the robbers were the two ruffians she had
seen the other night in the beam of light from the kitchen door!

"To think we were all there last evening, mooching round,
hanging about and everything!" groaned Fatty. "And we never saw a
thing. We were so busy preparing clues for old Pippin that we never saw
anything of a real crime that must have been going on almost under our
noses."

"Janet says that Mrs. Trotter, the woman who cleans the
Little Theatre, told her that last night the police found the manager stretched
out across his office desk, his head on his arms, asleep from some drug—and
behind him was his empty safe," said Larry. "It was one that was
built in the wall, hidden by a big wall-mirror hanging in front of it. She said
the

police must have discovered the whole thing not very long after it
was done."

"The police! I suppose that means P.C. Pippin," said Fatty.
"Gosh—to think we planted him there on that verandah, surrounded by a
whole lot of false clues—and there he was right on the spot when a real robbery
was committed I It's absolutely maddening. If only we'd snooped round a bit
more,
we
might have hit on the mystery ourselves. As it is, we've
presented it to the police—or rather to P.C. Pippin—and they will get in
straight away, and solve the whole thing."

There was a doleful silence. It did seem very hard luck.

"I suppose Pippin will think all those cigarette-ends and
hanky and so on are real clues now—clues to the real robbers, I mean,"
said Bets, after a long pause.

"Gosh! So he will! He'll be right off on the wrong
track," said Fatty. 'That's awkward. Very awkward. I don't mind playing a
silly trick on either Goon or Pippin—but I wouldn't want to do anything that
would prevent them from catching the burglars. Those clues of ours will
certainly fog them a bit."

"You mean—they'll start looking for people whose names begin
with Z, and they'll go and watch that Sunday train?" said Daisy.
"Instead of going on the right trail."

"Yes," said Fatty. "Well—I think I'd better go and
see P.C. Pippin, and own up. I don't want to set him off on the wrong
track—make him waste his time solving a pretend mystery when he's got a real
one to see to. Blow! It will be very awkward, having to explain. And I bet he
won't give me any information either, because he'll be so annoyed with me for
playing a trick on him. We could have worked in