CHAPTER IV. A DISCUSSION ABOUT RED CATS AND WHITE SNOW.

In a fit of terror the constable dropped the lantern, and the cat, unseen by the occupants of the kitchen, scuttled away.

"If you don't light the candle," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "I shall go off." And she forthwith proceeded to demonstrate by screaming, "Oh, oh, oh!"

"She's done it, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale. "Strike a light, there's a good fellow, and pick up the lantern. I can't do it myself; I've got my arms full."

Constable Wigg had now recovered his courage, and inspired by jealousy, quickly struck a match and lit the candle. Mrs. Middlemore lay comfortably in the arms of Constable Nightingale, who did not seem anxious to rid himself of his burden. Stirred to emulative sympathy, Constable Wigg took possession of one of Mrs. Middlemore's hands, and pressed and patted it with a soothing, "There, there, there! What has made you come over like this? There's nothing to be frightened of, is there, Nightingale?"

"Nothing at all," replied Constable Nightingale, irascibly, for he by no means relished his comrade's insidious attempt to slide into Mrs. Middlemore's affections. "You're better now, ain't you?"

"A little," murmured Mrs. Middlemore, "a very little."

"Take a sip of this," said Constable Wigg, holding a glass to her lips, "it'll bring you round."

Ignoring her previous declaration that she did not "drink sperrits," Mrs. Middlemore sipped the glass of whiskey, and continued to sip, with intermittent shudders, till she had drained the last drop. Then she summoned sufficient strength to raise herself languidly from Constable Nightingale's arms, and look toward the door.

"Where's it gone to?" she asked, in a trembling voice. "What's become of the 'orrid creature?"

"What horrid creature, my dear?" inquired Constable Nightingale, winking at his comrade.

"The cat! The red cat!"

"A red cat!" exclaimed Constable Nightingale, in a jocular voice; "who ever heard of such a thing? Who ever saw such a thing?"

"Why, I did--and you did, too."

"Not me," said Constable Nightingale, with another wink at Constable Wigg.

"Nor me," said that officer, following the lead.

"Do you mean to tell me you didn't see a cat, and that the cat you sor wasn't red?"

"I saw a cat, yes," said Constable Nightingale, "but not a red 'un--no, not a red un'. What do you say, Wigg?"

"I say as you says, Nightingale."

"There's lobsters, now," said Constable Nightingale; "we know what color they are when they're boiled, but we don't boil cats, that I know of, and if we did they wouldn't turn red. You learned natural history when you was at school, Wigg. What did they say about red cats?"

"It's against nature," said Constable Wigg, adding, with an unconscious imitation of Macbeth, "there's no such thing."

"I must take your word for it," said Mrs. Middlemore, only half convinced, "but if ever my eyes deceived me they deceived me jest now. If you two gentlemen wasn't here, I'd be ready to take my oath the cat was red. And now I come to think of it, what made the pair of you cry out as you did?"

"What made us cry out?" repeated Constable Nightingale, who, in this discussion, proved himself much superior to his brother officer in the matter of invention. "It was natural, that's what it was, natural. I'm free to confess I was a bit startled. First, there's the night--listen to it; it's going on worse than ever--ain't that enough to startle one? I've been out in bad nights, but I never remember such a one-er as this. Did you, Wigg?"

"Never. If it goes on much longer, it'll beat that American blizzard they talked so much of."

"That's enough to startle a chap," continued Constable Nightingale, "letting alone anything else. But then, there was that talk about a spectre cat. I ain't frightened of much that I know of. Put a man before me, or a dog, or a horse, and I'm ready to tackle 'em, one down and the other come up, or altogether if they like; but when you come to spectres, I ain't ashamed to say I'm not up to 'em. Its constitootional, Mrs. Middlemore; I was that way when I was little. There was a cupboard at home, and my mother used to say, 'Don't you ever open it, Jimmy; there's a ghost hiding behind the door.' I wouldn't have put my hand on the knob for untold gold. It's the same now. Anything that's alive I don't give way to; but when it comes to ghosts and spectres I take a back seat, and I don't care who knows it. Then there was that cry for 'Help,' that Wigg was speaking of. Then there was the candle going out"--he gave Mrs. Middlemore a nudge as he referred to this incident--"and the sudden opening of the door there. It was all them things together that made me cry out; and if brother Wigg's got any other explanation to give I shall be glad to hear it."

"No, Nightingale," said the prudent and unimaginative Wigg, "I couldn't improve on you. You've spoke like a man, and I hope our good-looking, good-natured landlady is satisfied."

This complimentary allusion served to dispel Mrs. Middlemore's fears, and in a more contented frame of mind she resumed her seat at the table, the constables following her example.

"May the present moment," said Constable Nightingale, lifting his glass and looking affectionately at Mrs. Middlemore, "be the worst of our lives; and here's my regards to you."

"And mine, my good creature," said Constable Wigg.

"Gents both," said Mrs. Middlemore, now thoroughly restored, "I looks toward yer."

Whereupon they all drank, and settled themselves comfortably in their chairs.

"What was in that cupboard," asked Mrs. Middlemore, "that your mother told you there was a ghost in?"

"What was in it? Now, that shows how a body may be frightened at nothing. I didn't find it out till I was a man, and it was as much a ghost as I am. But there's a lady present, and I'd better not go on."

"Yes, you must," said Mrs. Middlemore, positively. "You've made me that curious that I'll never speak another word to you if you don't tell me."

"Rather than that should happen, I must let you into the secret, I suppose. But you won't mind me mentioning it?"

"Not a bit, Mr. Nightingale. Speak free."

"Well, if you must know, it was where she kept a spare bustle, and a bit or two of hair, and some other little vanities that she didn't want us young 'uns to pull about. There, the murder's out, and I wouldn't have mentioned the things if you hadn't been so curious; but it's a privilege of your sex, Mrs. Middlemore, one of your amiable weaknesses that we're bound to respect."

Mrs. Middlemore laughed, and asked Constable Wigg what he was thinking of. That worthy had, indeed, put on his considering cap, as the saying is; he felt that Constable Nightingale was making the running too fast, and that he should be left hopelessly in the rear unless he made an attempt to assert himself, and to show that he knew a thing or two.

"I was thinking of the red cat," he said.

"Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, in a tone of reproof, "I'm astonished at you. When everything's been made smooth!"

"For the moment, Nightingale, for the moment," said Constable Wigg, complacently. "But there's by and by to reckon with. It ain't to be expected that Mrs. Middlemore can have us always with her, though I'm sure I should ask for nothing better. What could a man want better than this? Outside snow and blow, inside wine and shine."

"You're quite a poet, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, admiringly.

"I don't see it," grumbled Constable Nightingale; "where's the wine?"

"If this," said Constable Wigg, raising his glass and looking at its contents with the eye of a connoisseur, "ain't as good as the best of wine, I stand corrected. Did you never hear of a poet's license, Nightingale?" He asked this question banteringly.

"No, I didn't, and I don't believe you know where to get one, and what the Government charges for it."

"I'm afraid, Nightingale," said Constable Wigg, beginning to feel the effects of the drink, "that you've no soul for poetry."

"Never you mind whether I have or haven't," retorted Constable Nightingale.

"Gents both," interposed Mrs. Middlemore, "whatever you do, don't fall out. You're as welcome as welcome can be, but don't fall out."

"I bear no malice," said Constable Nightingale, who was really a simple-minded, good-hearted fellow; "shake hands, Wigg, and let bygones be bygones. All I want you to do is to let the red cat alone, or to stick to the point, and have done with it once and for all."

"Very good, Nightingale," said Constable Wigg, assuming the lofty air of a man who had established his claim to pre-eminence. "I'll stick to the point, and if I don't make Mrs. Middlemore's mind easy, I'll give up. Not easy as long as we're here, but easy when we're gone, as gone we must be some time or other, because it don't stand to reason that this storm's going to last forever. I'm only thinking of you, I give you my word, ma'am."

"You're very kind, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Middlemore, inclining, with the proverbial fickleness of her sex, now to Constable, Nightingale and now to Constable Wigg.

"It's the least I can do," proceeded Constable Wigg, addressing himself solely to his hostess, "after the way I've been treated here. Not for the last time, I hope."

"Not by a many," said Mrs. Middlemore, smirking at the flatterer, "if it remains with me."

"You're monarch of all you survey, ma'am," observed the wily Wigg, smirking back at her, "and remain with you it must, as long as you remain single."

"Oh, Mr. Wigg!"

"It's nobody's fault but your own if you do; there's not many as can pick and choose, but you're one as can. Perhaps you're hard to please, ma'am----"

"I ain't," said Mrs. Middlemore, so energetically that Constable Nightingale began to think it time to interfere.

"You're forgetting the red cat, Wigg," he said.

"Not at all," said Constable Wigg, blandly; "I'm coming to it, but I don't forget that Mrs. Middlemore has nerves. It amounts to this, ma'am. I've read a bit in my time, and I'm going to give you--and Nightingale, if he ain't too proud--the benefit of it. You did see a red cat, ma'am."

"Did I?" said Mrs. Middlemore, looking around with a shiver.

"You did, ma'am, and yet the cat wasn't red. I thought it was red, and so did Nightingale, if he'll speak the truth. I'll wait for him to say."

"I won't keep you waiting long," said Constable Nightingale, in a surly tone. "As you and Mrs. Middlemore seem to be of one mind, I'll make a clean breast of it. I thought it was red, and when I made light of it I did it for her sake."

He said this so tenderly that Mrs. Middlemore rewarded him with a look of gratitude; but she kept her eyes averted from the kitchen door.

"Now we can get on like a house on fire," said Constable Wigg. "When you winked at me, Nightingale, I didn't contradict you, but I fell a-thinking, and then what I read come to my mind. You've been out in the snow, Mrs. Middlemore, and you saw nothing but white. We've been out in the snow, ma'am, and we saw nothing but white. Not for a minute, not for five, not for ten but for hours I may say. I remember reading somewhere that when you've looked for a longish time upon nothing but white, that it's as likely as not the next thing you see will be red, never mind what the color really is. That's the way with us. The cat's been haunting me, in a manner of speaking, the whole livelong night, and what with that and the snow, and being all of a sudden shoved into darkness, the minute a light shines on the wretched thing it comes to me as red as a ball of fire; and it comes to you the same, because the snow's got into your eyes and affected your sight."

"Bosh!" exclaimed Constable Nightingale.

"What's that you say, Nightingale?" asked Constable Wigg.

"Bosh! I didn't want to frighten Mrs. Middlemore, and that's the reason I wouldn't harp on it, but now you've raked it up again I'll have the matter settled."

So saying, Constable Nightingale rose from his chair.

"Where are you going?" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find that cat," replied Constable Nightingale, "if it's in the house. If it isn't red, I give in and apologize. If it is, I shall take the liberty of saying for the third time, Bosh!"

He walked toward the door, but started back before he reached it, and pointing to the floor, asked,

"What do you call that, Wigg? Is that a deloosion!"

Constable Wigg advanced, looked down, rubbed his eyes, looked down again, and answered,

"I'm bound to say there's no mistaking the color. Have you got any red ochre in the house, ma'am?"

"Not a bit," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "as I knows on."

"These," said Constable Nightingale, kneeling, and examining the floor, "are marks of the cat's paws, and they're red. Look for yourself, Wigg."

"There's no denying it," said the baffled Wigg.

"You're on duty here, Wigg."

"What do you advise, Nightingale? You've been longer in the force than me."

"It's got to be looked into by somebody. It ain't for me to do it, because I'm out of my beat, and I don't want to be made an example of. Would you oblige me by going to the door and giving the alarm?"

"What for?"

"For me, being at a distance, to hear it. For me hearing it, to run to your assistance. Do you twig? My being on your beat must be accounted for. That will account for it."

This ingenious suggestion relieved Constable Wigg's mind as well as his comrade's.

"That's a good idea," he said; "and it'll account, too, for our being in the house, supposing anything should be said about it."

"Exactly. Being here with Mrs. Middlemore's permission. You've got a lot to learn, Wigg, and one of the lessons I'd advise you to take to heart"--here he looked significantly at Mrs. Middlemore--"is not to poach on a pal's preserves."

Constable Wigg may have felt the reproach, but he took no notice of it. "You may as well come to the door with me, Nightingale."

"I've no objections."

"I'll come too," said Mrs. Middlemore, nervously. "I wouldn't be left alone here for anythink you could orfer me."

The three walked upstairs to the passage, Mrs. Middlemore needing the support of Constable Nightingale's arm round her waist; but the moment the fastenings of the street-door were unloosed, it flew open as though a battering ram had been applied to it, and the wind and snow swept in upon them with undiminished fury.

"Hanged if it ain't getting worse and worse!" muttered Constable Nightingale, helping the others to shut the door, which was accomplished with great difficulty.

"Don't make a noise in the passage," whispered Mrs. Middlemore to Constable Wigg. "Mr. Felix 'll 'ear it, and he'd never forgive me."

"We'll take it for granted, then, that the alarm is given," said Constable Nightingale, "and we'll go downstairs, and consider what ought to be done."