II.
As she closed the door George prepared for his great idea. He drank
deeply of a cup of tea; drew down his cuffs; pondered them. They were
covered in pencilled notes, evolved by desperate work all that
morning, to aid him when the hour was at hand.
He absorbed Note I; spoke: "I am afraid last night's events very much
distressed you, sir--"
"They are interred. Do not resurrect them."
George hurried to Note 2. "My sympathies with you--"
"Let the dead bury the dead. Mourn not the past."
George skipped to Note 3. "What I am concerned about is the cats."
"You are?"
"Oh, sir, indeed I am. I am not demonstrative. Perhaps you have not
guessed my fondness for the cats?"
"I have not."
"Believe me, it is a deep affection. When I saw that unhappy woman
tigh--under the influence of spirits, what was my first thought?"
"Supply the answer."
George took another glimpse at Note 3. "What was my first thought?" he
repeated. "Was it distress at sight of a woman so forgetful of her
modesty? No. Was it sympathy for the cruel deception that had been
practised upon you? Forgive me, sir, it was not." (He glanced at his
notes.) "What, then?"
He paused brightly.
"It is your conundrum," said Mr. Marrapit. "Solve it."
George raised an impressive hand. "What, then? It was the thought of
the risks that the cats I so loved had run whilst beneath the care of
this woman.
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