TOO surprised to move, we stood and watched him. Then I caught Eve by
the hand. “Why, we can’t let him carry off Adam like that!” I cried.
“What will Aunt Cal say? Why, it’s highway robbery—stealing our cat
before our eyes!”
“I don’t think he’ll invite us in,” Eve observed with something
suspiciously like a giggle. “Seems sort of a crusty old bird.”
“But we can’t stand here and do nothing!” I was starting forward when I
saw that the back door of the house had opened from within. For a
moment another figure stood there, etched against the light. Then the
Captain entered and the door closed.
“Well,” I cried, “I’m not going to stand for that! Eve, maybe—maybe
they’re vivisectionists or something—going to cut his poor little
insides out!”
At this gruesome suggestion, however, Eve only laughed again. “How you
do let your imagination run on, Sandy!”
“Just the same, are you going to let that man steal my aunt’s cat?” I
demanded. “You know what ‘store she sets by Adam.’”
“Well, I’m thinking,” said Eve. “I think perhaps there’s some
misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding!” I scoffed. “I tell you that man’s nothing but a
common thief. Probably knows Aunt Cal’s away and thinks he can get away
with it. But I guess he’ll find he’s mistaken!” With that I advanced
boldly toward the house.
There was a light in the kitchen window and I could hear movements
inside as I crossed the little porch and knocked loudly on the door.
Eve was in the shadow just behind. After a minute the door opened and
the figure I had seen there before stood in the light of an oil lamp
which was burning in a wall bracket behind him.
“What do you want?” It was not a gruff voice like Captain Trout’s, but
clear and a little chilly. Moreover there was something distinctly
familiar about it. But I did not stop to place it. Instead, I stepped
boldly across the threshold and faced the owner squarely. He turned and
the light fell on his face. It was John Doe.
But I did not let my momentary astonishment distract me from my
purpose. “We’ve come for our cat,” I stated.
Looking beyond the boy, I saw the Captain in the act of pouring out a
saucer of milk. “He’s had his supper,” I said. “And besides he likes
his milk warmed.”
“I guess I know what he likes,” snapped the Captain, setting the saucer
of milk down on the floor beside the stove.
I took an indignant step forward. But Eve’s restraining hand was on my
arm. “Wait a minute, Sandy,” she urged. “If Captain Trout wants to give
Adam a little refreshment, surely there’s no harm in that. I’m going
outside to have a little chat with Mr. Doe. You’d better come along.”
I hesitated, looking from the ruddy face of the Captain, bent
solicitously over the cat, to the impassive one of John Doe where he
stood like a sentinel guarding the door. Suddenly the whole situation
became funny. “Eve,” I said, “doesn’t he remind you of Horatius at the
Bridge or something!”
But Eve was saying something to him in a low appealing voice and the
next moment, somewhat to my surprise, we were all three standing
together on the little back porch with the door closed behind us.
“Now,” said Eve, “please, Mr. Doe, do tell us what all this cat
business is about?”
“Oh, don’t call me that,” said the boy impatiently. “You know it isn’t
my name.”
“Naturally,” returned Eve, “but since it’s the name you gave us——”
“Oh, I was just kidding. My name’s Michael Gilpatrick.”
“What an awfully nice name,” Eve smiled. She seated herself on one of
the built-in benches at the end of the porch. “Now,” she said, “we can
talk. Tell us about the cat.”
Michael Gilpatrick leaned against the post. “Well,” he said, “I suppose
I might as well. But I don’t want you to think I’m taking sides in the
matter. Of course I’m a friend of the Captain, still I can see that
there’s something to be said on both sides.”
“Okay,” said Eve. “Having stated your position, please proceed. You
must remember that we’re all in the dark. We never had the slightest
inkling that there was any mystery surrounding Adam until tonight. Of
course we knew that Aunt Cal and the Captain weren’t exactly on cordial
terms.”
“And that the Captain had a habit of creeping along hedges after dark,”
I put in.
Michael’s straight mouth twitched a little, but he quickly regained his
solemnity. “Well,” he began, “it’s quite a long story. Goes back to the
winter before last.”
“Adam must have been something of a kitten then,” Eve suggested.
Michael nodded. “It was about Christmas time, I think, that Captain
Trout bought this little house and settled down here with his invalid
wife.”
“Why, I didn’t know——” I began, but Eve whispered, “Hush!”
“They got this kitten—a kitten, that is,” he went on. “It came to them
on Christmas Day and Mrs. Trout made a big fuss over it. They called it
Caliph.”
“What a flight of fancy!” I murmured.
“That’s what they named it,” said Michael stolidly.
“Well, go on.”
“Some time in February, one cold night when the thermometer was below
zero, the cat disappeared.”
“You didn’t tell us this was a sob story,” I put in, feeling for my
handkerchief.
“Hush, Sandy,” said Eve. “How did he happen to disappear?” she asked.
“I don’t know—he just vanished, the way cats do.”
“Night life and all that?” I queried.
The boy ignored my frivolity. “The next day Mrs. Trout was ill and the
Captain was so occupied with nursing her that he didn’t think very much
about the cat’s absence. But later, when he began to look about and
make inquiries, he couldn’t find any trace of him.”
“And so a year went by,” I prompted, “and still no trace of the missing
che-ild!”
“Well, it wasn’t quite a year. It was the next fall, October, I
believe. Mrs. Trout had died that summer and the Captain was living
here alone. One day he saw Caliph across the hedge. He was following
your aunt, Mrs. Poole, about the garden.”
“How,” I demanded, “did he know it was Caliph? A cat grows a lot
in—let me see—eight months, wasn’t it?”
“He thought it was Caliph,” continued Michael, “and he went over and
told Mrs. Poole so. But she said it was her cat Adam. She said she’d
found him starving on the street the week before and had brought him
home. Then Captain Trout explained about his cat, Caliph, running
away last February and all. But it was no use. Mrs. Poole
remained—er—unconvinced.”
“Naturally,” I exclaimed. “Why, the world’s practically full of Maltese
cats and to tell one from another after it’s had eight months to grow
in—why, I don’t blame Aunt Cal in the least.”
Michael regarded me gravely. “Well,” he said, “I’m just giving you the
facts as I learned them. Of course, the whole thing is rather silly,”
he added, “but you see the Captain was attached to Caliph on account of
his wife and all, and should know his own cat.”
“Of course,” said Eve. “He didn’t have seven toes or anything like
that?” she suggested hopefully.
“Not that I know of.”
“But look here!” I fairly bounced off my seat with the force of the
idea that had come to me. “Why don’t they simply put it to the test.
Get together, I mean, and each call the cat in turn. If he answers to
Adam—why, then he’s ours, I mean Aunt Cal’s. But if he comes to
Captain Trout——”
Michael shook his head. “No good,” he said. “As a matter of fact, the
cat answers to any old name you happen to call him!”
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