Murder on Show (9 page)

‘I'm sorry,' Marcus Opal burbled apologies. ‘I just thought – that is – they looked a bit
lonely.
It seemed to me ... a friendly word ... a pat ... might cheer them.
She,'
he spat the word out bitterly, ‘hasn't been paying much attention to them all day.'

Which was true, but none of his business. The big cats, I mean. They belonged to Carlotta, she got along with them, and they were used to her. It was up to nobody else to interfere.

Thirty-six hours was beginning to teach me the difference between the true animal lover and the sentimentalist. The true animal lover took them on their own terms, accepted them as individual creatures and – in some strange way – managed to be accepted by them in the same way. It was an alchemy I was aware of, yet hadn't begun to fully understand.

The sentimentalist was dangerous – both to the animal and to himself. Because he interpreted every reaction in human terms. In more than human terms – in terms of wishful thinking. Which was unfair to the animal concerned, and could be downright deadly to the human concerned.

At this moment, I felt vindictively, I wouldn't mind seeing something deadly happen to Marcus Opal. Which was wishful thinking on my part, of course.

‘Those monsters should be shot,' Marcus snarled. ‘They aren't safe. Rose Chesne-Malvern was insane to allow them into this Exhibition. I don't know what she was thinking of. You mark my words, there'll be trouble from them yet. Bad trouble.'

Since the others were now ignoring him, it seemed only politic on my part to nod. ‘Very nasty,' I acknowledged ambiguously, ‘very nasty, indeed.'

‘
Indeed
it is.' He pottered over to stand at the dividing rail between our stalls, but I wasn't in the mood to get matey with him.

Pandora crept out from under the table cautiously. I picked her up and went back to brushing her. When I finished, I had better go back to the hamper and see about some dinner for her.

The roars from the end of the aisle were diminishing as, still prowling restlessly, Pyramus and Thisbe accepted that their prey had escaped them.

The big cats kept prowling restlessly, snarling for the next hour, engendering a malaise that seemed to spread through the Hall. At one time or another, everyone in the aisle glanced nervously up at the Big Cage.

I didn't blame them. I was doing a fair share of glancing myself. Those bars didn't look all that strong to me. And those cats seemed to be growing bigger and uglier, as well as meaner-tempered, every minute.

But Pandora ate her dinner, just the same. Which was more than was happening in the next stall. By now, I was quite accustomed to the running battle between Marcus Opal and his recalcitrant pet at every mealtime.

‘Please, Precious ...
nice
catfood ... yum-yum ...'

I watched with some complacency as Pandora finished and began polishing her bowl. It struck me that a man could really cut down on his dish-washing time with a cat like that around. When I looked up, Marcus Opal had come over to the dividing rail between the stalls and was watching, too.

‘Precious won't eat,' he confided, as though the whole aisle didn't know it by this time. ‘He's usually a bit upset at Shows, but he's never been
this
bad before. It's those animals,' he glared down at Pyramus and Thisbe (one of them had stopped prowling and was pawing determinedly at the base of the iron bars at the front of the cage), they've upset all the cats. And it's so bad for them.'

‘Too bad,' I said noncommittally.

‘Too bad – it's criminal! Of course –' he glanced back over his shoulder (Precious was snarling softly, crouched in a corner of his cage) – ‘there
is
the situation at home, too.'

‘Oh?' I was slightly more interested. Marcus Opal had never given any indication that a hotel wasn't his natural habitat.

‘Oh, yes,' he leaned forward, even more confidentially, ‘Precious has a sweet little queen in kitten to him at home. They're due any moment. Naturally, he wants to be back there with her.'

‘Naturally,' I said, doubting that Precious gave much of a damn. ‘You must be quite excited about it, yourself.'

‘Oh, I am, I am,' he said. ‘I can't tell you
how
excited. It's been the dream of my life: “The Marcus Opal Precious Jewel Cattery”. But first, after I retired – the Civil Service, you know – I had to find the right cats. I had Precious Star Sapphire – the queen – for two years, but I couldn't find a really worthy stud. Then, like manna from heaven, I found Precious Black Jade. You can't imagine the excitement I felt.'

‘Yes, perhaps I can,' I said. In an odd way, I could. It was too bad he had to find a cat who hated him so much, when he was obviously prepared to expend so much devotion on it. I hoped he had better luck with the one at home.

‘Actually,' Marcus said, ‘that's why I'm here. The “Precious Jewel Cattery”, I mean. I'm looking for another nice little queen for Precious. Perhaps two. Then I can try some crossings with the kittens. I can found the best Manx Cattery off the Isle of Man.'

The early birds among the Exhibitors had arrived and, having collected their clobber and found their assigned places, were penning their cats for the night. Having done this, they drifted over to the main aisle to look at the Special Exhibits. They were beginning to cluster around Mother Brown's stall, and the coos and cries of admiration were floating over to us.

‘I personally think that's disgusting,' Marcus Opal said righteously. ‘I would never submit Precious Star Sapphire and her kittens to an ordeal like that. I don't know why Helena Keswick does it. It's a cheap and vulgar playing to the gallery.'

And wasn't the gallery responding! Marcus Opal was green with envy because he hadn't bred his cats in time for the kittens to have arrived and passed the age requirements for an Exhibition Litter. I made a mental bet that any future Exhibition would have the ‘Precious Jewel Cattery' heavily represented – very heavily.

Otherwise, things seemed to have settled down to a quiet lull. It occurred to me that this would be a good time to nip back to the office and see if there were any developments there. I could also pick up my razor, pyjamas, and a few things to make tonight's stay more comfortable than last night's had been.

I was just about ready to leave for the Exhibition again, when Penny came in. She began unpacking her carryall, pulling out a jar of instant coffee, her library book, and two tubes of glue.

‘We ran out of glue,' she said. ‘There was so much evening coverage to paste into the guard books. And lots of Stop Press in the afternoon editions.'

I tried not to wince. It wasn't exactly the sort of publicity we visualized attracting for our clients. I had to admit, though, that all the names had been spelled right.

‘What are you doing here at this hour? You should have gone home.'

‘It's only half-past six.' She eyed me hopefully. ‘I thought I might be able to come and help you at the Exhibition for a while tonight. I've got everything practically up-to-date here,' she added hastily. ‘I can paste up the rest of the stuff in no time.'

She was a good kid, and she didn't ask for much. Other secretaries – even part-time ones – wanted more pay, better hours, time off, and paid holidays. Nobody had explained these things to her yet. Her typing was improving, too.

‘All right,' I said, ‘don't take your coat off. I was just leaving. Wait a minutes –' I had a sudden thought – I'll be right with you.'

The tin of sardines was still on the pantry shelf. I slipped it into my pocket. It's hard work being photographed, and a hard-working cat deserves an occasional treat. Like a hard-working secretary.

‘Come on,' I told Penny. ‘We'll pick up a taxi downstairs.' There are advantages in living near a Main Line station.

We arrived back at the Exhibition just as more police were driving up in a couple of cars, all ready for another difficult session of trying to question distracted people among crowds of other people who had been nowhere near the scene of the crime when it happened. You had to admire their persistence.

Penny dashed in ahead – those cats had really got to her – while I was paying off the taxi. I turned to follow her and nearly tripped over them. They had crowded in behind me and were staring up pleadingly.

‘Please, mister,' the leader said, ‘don't let them send us away, please.'

I was at a loss for a moment, then followed the direction of their worried glances. They actually thought all those policemen had come to chase them away because they were contravening some minor bye-law.

‘We aren't making any trouble, honest we aren't,' the other boy said. ‘We got a right to be here.' He was a more pugnacious type.

‘Please –' the little girl put a grubby little hand on my sleeve and smiled up at me enchantingly – ‘make them go away again, mister.'

‘Look, kids –' I tried to move forward, but they were crowded so close to me that I literally couldn't budge – ‘don't worry. They aren't interested in you. It's all right, I promise you –'

‘Then –' this time, she took a fistful of material and twisted it earnestly, but it was good worsted and the stitches held – ‘tell them to go away. We don't like policemen. Sometimes they chase kids.'

‘Okay.' I patted her head. ‘As it's you, I'll speak to them. They won't be able to go away, because they've got business inside, but I'll see that they don't bother you.'

‘Thanks, mister, thanks.' I was fleetingly aware of grubby little hands patting me on the back, and then they were gone. Back to their Puss-in-Boots and their plumed collecting hat. I wondered how they were doing. It kept me from wondering why I'd had to play ‘big shot' and let them think I could ‘fix' the police for them. Why couldn't I have explained properly and made them understand that the police had a theft to worry about and weren't even going to notice them?

But it was too late now. They were watching me surreptitiously as I neared the policeman at the Entrance. I waved to them, then nodded to the policeman.

‘Cute little kids,' I said. ‘Enterprising of them to make a Puss-in-Boots Guy. We'll be taking some publicity shots of them later. Good human interest stuff.'

‘Aaar, probably tealeaves, one and all,' he said gloomily. ‘You'd be surprised. You don't know the complaints we get every “Bob a Job” Week.'

Maybe the kids hadn't been so far wrong, at that. ‘Oh well, press on regardless,' I said, nodding to him again and going inside.

Penny, as I might have expected, was cooing over Mother Brown's litter. I waved at her as I went past. Pandora woke from what was evidently a light doze as I approached, and rose and stretched, yawning widely.

Just for appearance's sake,
I
opened the door of her pen, and she strolled out languidly. Not quite ignoring me, she made an exploratory circuit of the stall. I followed her part of the way, then she leaped up on the railing between the stalls.

Blazing, intent yellow eyes followed her progress, but she didn't seem worried. She approached the other pen and she and Precious regarded each other through the wire mesh. There was a low, rapid interchange of growls.

Even then, it didn't strike me as ominous. I was unprepared to see Pandora paw the latch of Precious's cage and let the door swing back. Precious was out of it before I could leap across the stall and stop him. I leaped just the same – there wouldn't be enough left of Pandora to make a pair of fuzzy cuff-links, if she tangled with Precious.

I snatched her up and tossed her on to my shoulder, just as Precious reached the railing. ‘Go away,' I snarled at him. ‘Get lost! Beat it!'

He approached me warily, ears flattened, belly low. I didn't fancy the idea of being the site of a cat fight, but I prepared to do battle for Pandora's honour.

Incautiously, I put out my hand to shoo him away, and he caught it with his claw. Mindful of Helena Keswick's warning, I froze.

He sniffed at my cuff, then reared up on his hind legs and inhaled heartily all along my sleeve, up to my elbow. I noticed that, somewhere along the way, his claws had disappeared into their sheaths and his ears had flicked up to normal. But his mouth was still open, tip of his tongue curled intently between gleaming fangs as he sniffed around some more.

Then he looked up at me and yowled, urgently, imploringly. I'd never seen an animal trying so hard to communicate something, ask me something. It upset me that I didn't have an idea in the world of what he wanted.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I'm most terribly sorry, old chap. I just don't know.'

He yowled again, a wild despairing wail. Pandora jumped down from my shoulder and stood beside him. She stared up at me accusingly, adding her bit to the conversation, but she made it no clearer than he did.

‘I'm sorry,' I said again, feeling increasingly helpless in the face of such urgency. ‘I don't know.'

This time, Pandora made it clear that she felt I'd let the side down badly. ‘All right, I
said
I'm sorry,' I told her.

And then I remembered the sardines in my pocket. They must have smelt them. No wonder they were so annoyed with me for being obtuse.

‘Here you are, then.' Feeling a great relief, I pulled out the sardines. It was a rolltop tin with its own key and I had it open in a moment. I set it down in front of them, then was afraid I might have precipitated that cat fight I'd been trying to avoid.

I needn't have worried. Pandora dipped a paw in and flipped out a sardine. Precious gave half a wail, but hunger won and he lunged forward, sinking his fangs into the tin. They continued to eat that way; Precious, straight from the tin, while Pandora dipped a ladylike paw in and pulled out titbits. She sent me a largely unreadable glance, but I gathered I wasn't quite the hopeless idiot she had at first thought – although there was still room for improvement.