And why catnip in Matthew Stuyvesant’s house?
Why, but to lure cats to that house!
The three servants were in the conspiracy to haunt Matthew Stuyvesant with cats. Henry Rood still had to find out the motive behind that conspiracy.
Henry thought he already had a definite clew, one that he could follow up speedily.
So far as he could see into the future, the great cat mystery was turning the corner toward its successful conclusion.
Chapter V
The Last Cat
Henry finished his cup of tea, borrowed a latchkey from the housekeeper, and put on his hat and coat, making an excuse for leaving.
He wanted to telephone to Milly and he did not care to have Stuyvesant’s servants overhear his instructions. He meant to put Milly on the trail of catnip. Catnip in the city comes from drug stores, and Henry did not expect much difficulty in tracing the purchaser of an herb for which there is not much demand.
On Matthew Stuyvesant’s brownstone steps the gaunt black Tom cat crouched as Henry opened the door.
The slinking beast turned its baleful green eyes on Henry and hissed.
An hour before Henry had ejected it unceremoniously, but it lingered and he no longer wondered at that.
The black alley cat had associated that house with the drug for which a cat will dare greatly.
Henry closed the door behind him and stood regarding the cat, not three feet away from it. Properly nourished, it would have been rather a handsome cat, except for a diagonal black scar across its head, a scar that looked oddly like a streak of lightning against an inky midnight sky.
“Well, Lightnin’, old boy,” said Henry, “sore at me?”
The cat regarded him with no more malevolence than it had for any of the human race. It kept out of reach and it swore softly and warningly, but that was its habit. “I treated you rough, cat,” Henry grinned. “I guess I owe you an apology. Seems to me I saw a liver shop in the next block.”
Ten cents’ worth of liver and a little patience put Henry and Lightnin’ on good terms. When Henry reentered Stuyvesant’s house, he carried Lightnin’ concealed beneath his overcoat. “If I know where this cat is, he can’t fool me another time,” Henry reasoned wisely.
During the afternoon Henry spent several busy hours on the roof of Matthew Stuyvesant’s house in company with a tinsmith. After he had washed away the traces of that sooty adventure, he called again on the second floor study and asked Stuyvesant to send for his three servants. He said to them when they assembled, all curiosity: “I have just assured Mr. Stuyvesant that there will be no more cats in this house. I’m sure you all will be glad to know that.”
Three heads nodded enthusiastically. But they nodded without conviction.
Henry went on: “I’ve had the Humane Society agent round up the strays. Of course, that may not dispose of every cat about here, but it will help. I’ve had strong screens put in all the windows. And when any of you enter or leave the house, I want you to be very careful that no cat gets in. Mr. Stuyvesant has been made seriously unwell by this disturbance, as you can see for yourselves. He must not be disturbed again.”
Matthew Stuyvesant did look ill. Two weeks of living in a cat-haunted house undoubtedly had worn down his natural powers of resistance.
“I hope your scheme works,” Doran said reluctantly. “But I’m blessed if I can see that you’ve done anything we didn’t do for the last two weeks, except Mr. Stuyvesant didn’t want to spend the money for them screens.”
“Well, I do hope it succeeds,” Mrs. Loos echoed with palpable doubt.
“My, yes!” said Gertie.
“Oh, yes, another precaution I forgot to mention,” Henry said blandly. “I had the tinner put strong wire screens over the tops of both chimneys of this house. The chimney flues lead into open grate fireplaces, you know. Just supposing a person wanted to scare Mr. Stuyvesant with cats, he might introduce a cat now and then by lowering him in a basket from the chimney top, don’t you see? So now I think we are really quite catproof!”
The three servants looked straight before them. Not a word was said. The silence was distinctly audible.
Mrs. Loos’s nervous fingers twisted up the gold fringe of a chair. Gertie clasped her hands until the knuckles turned white. Doran’s hands were on his knees, his gaze fixed on the carpet. He seemed to be holding his breath.
When Henry added genially: “Well, that’s all. I just wanted you to know what I have done,” the tension was suddenly released. The three exchanged quick glances.
“Yes, that’s all,” Matthew Stuyvesant lisped wearily. “And now I really think I shall lie down and try to get some rest. My sleep has been so broken!”
“Do,” his housekeeper urged. “You haven’t eaten a bite to-day, either. Just a snack now? No? Well then, a nice cup of hot tea?”
Henry had thoughtfully given the elderly man his arm and was able to whisper to him: “Take it, if you want it. Your poison mystery is solved. I give you my word, tea is safe.”
“Not tea,” Stuyvesant answered. “But I wish you would fix me up some of my sedative, Mrs. Loos. Just a few drops in a glass of water. I don’t trust my nervous hand to pour it.”
“Now, Mr. Stuyvesant, really!” Mrs. Loos shook her head with a frown.
“That doctor’s a fool!” Stuyvesant said angrily.
“That doctor is not a fool,” his housekeeper contradicted. “He says those drops are bad for your heart — and you know you have a weak heart!”
Stuyvesant cried out: “I tell you I’ve got to sleep and I can’t sleep without my drops. I’ve got to sleep or I’ll go mad!”
“Well, it isn’t right, and I tell you so,” Mrs. Loos grumbled. “But I’ll fix the drops.”
Stuyvesant walked wearily into his bedroom and threw himself down. Mrs. Loos lingered to answer Henry’s silent questions.
“He’s got a bad heart,” she whispered. “The doctor says if he doesn’t stop using those drops it will kill him. But don’t you worry, Mr. Young Man!” She chuckled. She favored Henry with a wink. “I mix his drops for him now,” she explained. “He thinks he’s getting his medicine, but it’s just pure water! And it makes him sleep like a baby!”
“Imagination is a wonderful thing,” Henry smiled.
“Yes, indeed it is,” Mrs. Loos agreed. She added in a louder tone: “I’ll get the bottle and bring you your dose, Mr. Stuyvesant.”
“Well, I must be on my way,” Henry said. “I’ve got to see some people, especially a certain real estate agent who handles property in this district.”
But Henry contrived to delay his going long enough to observe that Mrs. Loos, Gertie and Doran were consulting with their heads together in the basement hallway. They were discussing a secret and discussing it with angry emphasis. Henry did not try to eavesdrop. He knew what they were discussing. After the hints he had let drop, Henry did not anticipate any more visits from mysterious cats.
A moment later, in hat and coat, he passed the trio with a cheerful smile and a good-by. For answer he received the combined glare of three pairs of eyes.
It was almost six o’clock when Henry walked back toward Stuyvesant’s house. He walked briskly, and as he walked he whistled a little tune.
Ahead of him, walking briskly in the same direction, Henry recognized an acquaintance and sometimes rival, Police Captain De Kane. De Kane was in a hurry. His red face glowed like a ripe tomato and the plume of smoke from his cigar trailed out behind him.
Henry quickened his steps and greeted De Kane jubilantly.
“Where the deuce you bound for?” De Kane frowned.