The cat looked up from the saucer and flashed his master a bold, golden glance, then settled down to wash himself. John slipped his hand into his hip pocket, paused for a moment, then pulled an anxious face.
‘What’s the matter?’ whispered Rosemary. A discussion had started between Uncle Zack and Mr Sprules as to whether cats were more intelligent than dogs.
‘The ring, the Golden Gew-Gaw! I left the box in the pocket of my other jeans when I put clean ones on this morning ...’
‘Well, it’ll still be there when we get home,’ said Rosemary comfortably. ‘But I wish we’d got it now so that we could talk to Splodger. Look how he is staring at us with his great yellow eyes!’
‘But you remember what Carbonel said about that business of not letting it “out of sight or feel”?’ said John.
‘Well, it can’t be helped,’ began Rosemary, when she was interrupted by Mr Sprules. ‘I wonder if you two would do something for me. Could you deliver a letter to Tucket Towers?’
There was nothing else to do but say: ‘Of course.’
‘I came across a page that had dropped out of a battered old book Mrs Witherspoon bought the other day, and I thought she would be glad to have it.’
‘What an extraordinary building Tucket Towers is,’ said Uncle Zack. ‘I suppose Colonel Witherspoon wanted to make it as much like a castle as possible, but without the discomforts.’
‘Why is it called Tucket Towers when there is only one?’ asked John.
‘It sounds grander, I suppose,’ said Mr Sprules. ‘I bet the Colonel would have added a moat, and a draw-bridge too, if it would not have been awkward for callers, and people like the postman.’ The two men laughed.
‘By the way,’ said Mr Sprules, turning to John and Rosemary. ‘You’ll find some children’s books on the shelves on the right of the street door. Go and choose one each: that is, if you would like to. They are all in pretty good condition.’
‘Whatever made you look so queer just now?’ said Rosemary as they studied the backs of the books.
‘Don’t you see?’ said John. ‘Taking Mr Sprules’s letter to Tucket Towers gives us an excuse to ring the bell. So all we’ve got to do is to think of another excuse to go inside when someone answers the door.’
‘Well, I think ...’ began Rosemary. There was a sudden ‘Squark’ from Splodger. ‘Oh, puss, I’m so sorry. Did I tread on your tail? I didn’t see you down there.’
She bent down, but Splodger shrugged off her stroking hand, ran to the door leading to the street, where he looked up at her expectantly, impatiently clawing at the mat. As soon as she opened the door he went streaking down the pavement, weaving his way through the legs of passers-by with surprising speed.
‘You don’t think he heard what we were saying?’ said Rosemary.
‘I don’t suppose it would have meant anything to him if he did,’ said John. ‘I’m going to choose Treasure Island.’
‘The Jungle Book for me,’ said Rosemary. ‘Then we can exchange afterwards.’
They all three sat in thoughtful silence on the journey home. Uncle Zack wore his worried face again.
‘Time for a quick wash and brush-up,’ he said as the car turned in to the drive. ‘It’s just about supper time, and Mrs Bodkin gets cross if I keep it waiting.’
‘Does she get cross with you?’ said Rosemary in surprise. Uncle Zack pulled a wry face.
‘It isn’t so much what she says. She goes about in a sort of cloud of crossness. You can’t see it, of course, but you can feel it.’
‘I know,’ said John. ‘There’s a master at school who does that, and you have to mind your p’s and q’s.’
‘Well, you’d better mind them now!’ said Uncle Zack, looking at his watch.
But no smell of cooking supper greeted them as they went indoors, and no supper was laid on the Cromwellian table. Even more important to John and Rosemary, there were no grubby jeans hanging on the back of John’s bedroom chair, where he had left them that morning. Without a word, they clattered down the stairs to the kitchen.
Dumpsie ran forward to greet them with a welcoming ‘Prrrt!’ Rosemary bent down and stroked her. Mrs Bodkin was pricking sausages with a fork.
‘I know!’ she said, lifting a frowning face. ‘You want your supper, and I’m all behind and it’s not ready, but I’ve only got one pair of hands.’
‘Oh, never mind about supper,’ said John, rather to her surprise. ‘Have you seen my dirty old jeans?’
‘What do you think?’ said Mrs Bodkin. ‘I gave them a wash.’
‘Thanks awfully. But did you find a tin box in the pocket?’ Mrs Bodkin gave a sniff.
‘A medal for bravery I ought to get. I never know what my fingers are going to sink into when I go through young John’s pockets. A dead mouse it was once when you was last here. Of course I found your precious box. It’s on the dresser there. My hands was soapy, and I dropped it, and the things fell all over the place, but I put ’em all back again.’
John hurried to the dresser and fetched the box. The Golden Gew-Gaw was not there.
‘There was a ring in it too,’ said John.
‘With a big red stone,’ added Rosemary.
‘Oh yes, I forgot about that,’ said Mrs Bodkin. ‘I found it on the floor when I’d put the box on the shelf for safety. Nearly trod on it. I slipped it on my finger while I finished the wash, just to keep it safe ... and then it happened. I must have come over queer. I shall have to see a doctor.’
She put a hand to her forehead and John and Rosemary gave one another an anxious glance.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rosemary. ‘Do sit down and tell us about it!’
Mrs Bodkin sank gratefully into the chair that John brought forward.
‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she said. ‘I’d done all the cooking, and polished most of the furniture for the Sale tomorrow, and then I thought I’d just wash your jeans through, seeing as you’ve only got one spare pair, before I had a nice sit-down. Tired, I was, with all I’d done. Well, I’d collected one or two things. You know how it is once you start, but not worth getting out the washing machine. I’d got my hands in the suds, and my back was aching, and the thinking of all that spring-cleaning wash I’d put off till you kids had gone. I remember saying to pussy here something about wishing all the dirty things were ready washed and on the line ... And next thing, I looked out of the window — and they were! On the line, I mean. Stretching all the way down the garden and back. Loose covers, cushions, blankets, bedspreads ... The lot! And me still with my hands in the suds, and not remembering a thing about it: not taking down the curtains even, which means getting out the step-ladder, nor hanging it all on the line or anything. It seemed done in a flash, like. A sort of fit I must have had, not remembering!’ Distractedly she waved the fork she was still holding.
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ said Rosemary soothingly. ‘I don’t suppose it will happen again.’
‘And then of course, I had to turn to and iron the blooming lot! And air the blankets so we don’t catch our deaths tonight. I’ve been at it ever since. I’m about done in.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said John.
‘But I expect you are glad it’s all finished,’ went on Rosemary.
‘I suppose so,’ said Mrs Bodkin. ‘The things is as clean as anyone could wish, I’ll say that. But doing all that great enormous wash, and not remembering anything about it, I must be going queer in the head.’
‘Well, you seem as right as rain now,’ said John. ‘But the ring. Could we have it?’
‘Now, what did I do with it?’ said Mrs Bodkin. ‘Oh, I remember. It slipped off my finger in the soapy water and I put it on the window-sill. That’s funny, it isn’t there now!’