‘I hope I done right?’ said Dumpsie, looking anxiously at Crumpet.
‘Of course,’ he said gravely. ‘You are as brave as you are beautiful, my dear.’ She looked down modestly at her paws, and then went on:
‘Such a scurrying and hurrying there is, all over Fallowhithe, in search of His Majesty. Such mewking and miaowing in corners and on roof-tops! Them alley cats is getting out of hand, as you’d expect. Roving around the roof-tops at night singing rude songs. Queen Blandamour is at her wits’ end to know what’s to do for the best.’
‘My poor mama,’ said Crumpet soberly. ‘The alley cats are good enough creatures, but a bit wild. When did my father disappear?’
‘Three days after you left for Highdown,’ said Dumpsie.
‘That’s funny,’ said John. ‘When we talked to him at Rosie’s house, he said he could spend no more time away searching for you, and that he must get back to affairs of state.’
Calidor jumped down from the seat. He stood with head up and tail erect.
‘This matter is serious,’ he said crisply, and there was no mistaking that it was Calidor, the royal son of Carbonel, who was speaking; no longer Crumpet, the witch’s cat.
‘I must return to Fallowhithe immediately and take matters in hand. Dumpsie, you will stay here with the Hearing Humans, until your paw is healed. I must make all the haste I can, and you could not keep up with me.’
‘But whatever has happened to Carbonel?’ said Rosemary. ‘We thought it was queer when he didn’t turn up at Highdown when he said he would.’
‘He said that, did he?’ went on Calidor. ‘Then I shall search in Fallowhithe, and you will keep your eyes and ears open here. I shall depend on you.’
‘Yes, but wait a minute ...’ began John. Calidor held up a restraining paw.
‘In the meantime, look out for Grisana and Sly-paws Melissa! Guard against the traitor Mattins, and keep a watch on the goings-on at Tucket Towers.’
‘That’s all very well!’ began John again.
‘I have no time to discuss things further,’ broke in Calidor impatiently. ‘I have a long way to go. Good-bye. I shall come back.’ And with a flick of his tail he turned and hurried away down the platform.
‘Well, of all the cheek!’ said John angrily. ‘Exactly like Carbonel again, ordering us about. Do this! Do that!’
‘Well, I think he’s rather splendid,’ said Rosemary. ‘After all, he’s doing exactly what Carbonel wanted him to, without any fussing from us. You ought to be pleased. I’m sure he’s done the right thing. What do you think, Dumpsie?’
The little cat was not listening. She was gazing at the spot where Calidor had turned the corner out of sight, making the same little croodling noise, and kneading the hard boards of the platform with her front paws.
‘Eh? What’s that?’ she said, suddenly coming to. ‘Of course Calidor is right!’
‘Well, come on, Rosie,’ said John. ‘We must get going, and leave that leaflet at Tucket Towers. Hallo, it’s raining again.’
‘Then you’d best leave me behind here under the shelter,’ said Dumpsie. ‘You can’t dodge the rain-drops on three paws, and I don’t like to get my whiskers wet.’
‘But suppose Miss Dibdin comes back and finds you here?’ said Rosemary.
‘It’s easy for the likes of me to hide,’ said Dumpsie. ‘She won’t see me.’
‘If you’re sure,’ said Rosemary uncertainly.
‘We should be much quicker on our own, without wearing the ring between us,’ went on John. ‘We’re late as it is. We’ll pick you up on the way back.’
‘All right,’ said Rosemary. ‘But keep on the look-out for us, Dumpsie. We don’t want to meet Miss Dibdin again if we can help it. And do take care.’
As they hurried down the road Rosemary said: ‘I’d almost forgotten about the Scrabbles. We’ve got to see if they have gone back to their holes.’
On reaching the spot where the cat’s eye studs should have started they stopped dead. The small square holes were still empty.
‘Well, that proves it. The un-wishing didn’t work, and the Scrabbles must still be somewhere about,’ said John, as he poked a stick down one of the holes to make quite sure.
‘But if they aren’t here, wherever can they be?’ said Rosemary, looking uneasily over her shoulder.
‘It’s no good asking me,’ said John. ‘But if they’ve taken themselves off, it’s their look-out, not ours.’
‘I suppose so,’ Rosemary agreed doubtfully.
‘And what’s more,’ went on John, ‘we fussed enough yesterday because we couldn’t get rid of them, so I’m blowed if I’m going to get fussed today because they’ve gone! Bother the Scrabbles! Race you to the drive of Tucket Towers.’
11. ‘May The Best Witch Win!’
‘SUPPOSE we meet Miss Dibdin?’ said Rosemary, as they walked up the long weedy drive, which was dark with overhanging trees and jostling rhododendron bushes.
‘Even if we do, she can’t stop us shoving the leaflet in the letter-box and coming away again,’ said John.
Presently they emerged from the gloom of the drive, on to what had once been a wide carriage sweep in front of the steps leading to the front door.
‘I say, what a grand house!’ said Rosemary, standing still to admire it. ‘All those rows of windows, and the tower, and the up-and-down edge to the roof. Just like a castle!’
‘It really was grand once, Uncle Zack says; but most of it’s shut up now.’
‘I suppose that’s why the curtains are drawn in nearly all the windows. It makes it look ... sort of blind and sad. Look, there’s Mrs Witherspoon’s tricycle!’
It stood at the bottom of the flight of steps. They walked across the carriage sweep to look at it, rather wishing their feet didn’t scrunch so loudly on the gravel.
‘Gosh!’ said John. ‘Do you see what’s sitting in the basket on the handlebars? A great warty toad!’
They peered at it in astonishment, and the toad, squat and unmoving, stared back with unblinking yellow eyes.
‘I suppose it is alive?’ said Rosemary. ‘It’s so still it might be stuffed.’
‘Must be alive. Look at that pulse thing beating in its throat,’ said John. And as if to prove it, the creature’s long tongue suddenly whipped out and caught an unwary fly that had settled on the edge of the basket.
‘Ugh! What a horrid-looking creature!’ said Rosemary. ‘Not my idea of a cosy sort of pet. Come on, let’s get rid of the leaflets and go home.’
When they reached the front door, which was large and heavy, and studded with nails, they found it was not quite closed, and the sound of arguing voices could be heard on the other side.
‘I keep telling you, Dulcie,’ said a voice they recognized as Miss Dibdin’s. ‘It must be black. A grey cat won’t do. You can’t use Mattins. Unless you keep to the rules, nothing will work properly.’
‘My dear Dorothy,’ replied a high commanding voice. ‘I no longer need your advice. I told you. Yesterday I discovered a treasure in Sprules’s book shop in Broomhurst, in the bargain tray. Half the cover is missing, and unfortunately some of the pages, but even so it will teach me far more than you are ever likely to know. What with Gullion sitting on my pillow every night. ...’
‘You mean to say you let that horrid toad sleep on your pillow?’ interrupted Miss Dibdin.
‘My precious Gullion, horrid? Rubbish! He is invaluable. All night long he whispers delicious wicked schemes in my ear. I can hear them in my dreams. As for Mattins, I dare say I shall use him to run a few simple errands now and then, but I have discovered the perfect cat. Black as ebony, and with dignity that would do credit to any broomstick turn-out!’
‘I’m sure I’m glad to hear it,’ said Miss Dibdin coldly, in the sort of voice that showed she was not really glad at all. ‘And where is this precious perfect animal, I should like to know? I haven’t seen him about the house.’