I caught sight of Beautiful, again on the mantel, and she was standing up, her tail bushy and straight up, her fur back of the ears and along the back standing up in a ridge, her blue eyes blazing. "It's all right, Beautiful," I said to her soothingly. "All the excitement's over, and everything's--"
I was walking toward the mantel, raising my hand to pet her, when Wheeler's excited voice stopped me.
"Watch out," he yelled. "That cat's going to jump --"
And I saw the muzzle of his gun raising and pointing at the Siamese cat.
My right hand swung up with the flashlight and I leaped at Wheeler. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jack stepping in as Wheeler ducked back. The corner of my eye caught the swing of his blackjack. . . .
The overhead light was bright in my eyes when I opened them. I was lying flat on the bed and the first thing I saw was Beautiful, curled up on my chest looking at me. She was all right now, her fur sleek and her curled tail back to normal. Whatever else had happened, she was all right.
I turned my head, and it hurt to turn it, but I saw that Jack was sitting beside the bed. The door was closed and Wheeler and Cole were gone.
"What happened?" I asked.
"You tried to kill Wheeler," Jack said. There was something peculiar about his voice, but his eyes met mine levelly.
"Don't be silly," I said. "I was going to knock his arm down before he could shoot. He was crazy. He must have a phobia against cats."
Jack shook his head. "You were going to kill him," he said. "You were going to kill him whether he shot or not."
"Don't be silly." I tried to move my hands and found they were fastened behind me. I looked at Jack angrily. "What's wrong with you?"
"Not with me, Brian," he said. "With you. I know--now--that it was really you who killed Dr. Roth tonight. Yes, I know you've got an alibi. But you did it just the same. You used Alister Cole as your instrument. My guess would be waking hypnosis."
"I suppose I got him to try to kill me, too!" I said.
"You told him he'd shoot over your head, and then run away. It was a compulsion so strong he tried it again tonight, even after he saw Wheeler and me ready to slug him if he tried. And he was aiming high again. How long have you been working on him?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You do, Brian. You don't know it all, but you know this part of it. You found out that Cole had schizophrenic tendencies. You found out, probably while playing chess with him, that you could put him under waking hypnosis without his knowing it. And you worked on him. What kind of a fantasy did you build in him?
What kind of a conspiracy, did you plant in his mind, Dr. Roth was leading against him?"
"You're crazy."
"No, you are, Brian. Crazy, but clever. And you know that what I've just told you just now is right. You also know I'll never be able to prove it. I admit that. But there's something else you don't know. I don't have to prove it."
For the first time I felt a touch of fear. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You gave Cole his fantasies, but you don't know your own. You don't know that--under the pressure, possibly, of working too hard and studying too hard--your own mind cracked. You don't know that your million-dollar rat-killer is your fantasy.
You don't believe me, now that I'm telling you that it is a fantasy. You'll never believe it. The paranoiac builds up an air-tight system of excuses and rationalization to support his insane delusions. You'll never believe me."
I tried to sit up and couldn't. I realized then that it wasn't a matter of my arms being tied. Jack had put the strait jacket on me. "You're part of it, then," I said.
"You're one of those in the plot against me."
"Sure, sure. You know, Brian. I can guess what started it. Or rather what set it off, probably only a few days ago. It was when Dr. Roth killed your cat. That dream you told me about tonight-- the cat killing Dr. Roth. Your mind wouldn't accept the truth. Even your subconscious mind reversed the facts for the dream. I wonder what really happened. Possibly your cat killed a rat that was an important part of an experiment and, in anger, Dr. Roth--"
"You're crazy," I shouted. "Crazy!"
"And ever since, Brian, you've been talking to a cat that wasn't there. I thought you were kidding, at first. When I figured out the truth, I told Wheeler what I figured.
When you gave us a clue where the cat was supposed to be, on the mantel, he raised his gun and pretended--"
"Jack!" I begged him, to break off the silly things he was saying. "If you're going to help them railroad me, even if you're in on the plot--please get them to let me take Beautiful with me. Don't take her away too. Please!"
Cars were driving up outside. I could feel the comforting weight and warmth of the cat sleeping on my chest.
"Don't worry, Brian," Jack said quietly. "That cat'll go wherever you go.
Nobody can take it away from you. Nobody."
Listen to the Mocking Bird
When the phone rang, Tim McCracken grabbed for it. Then he pulled back his hand and made himself count up to ten, slowly, before he lifted the receiver. Just because it was the first time the darned thing had let out a peep in a week, he didn't want whoever was calling to think he'd been sitting there waiting for the call.
Sure, business was bad, but a guy had to bluff. Or did he? While he was counting to ten, McCracken let his eyes run around the well-furnished office that constituted his bluff. He wondered again if he hadn't been foolish to sink the profits from his first three cases into that layout.
But those cases had come so easily and so quickly after he'd quit his job with the police department, and gone out on his own. They'd all come, though, when his office was a secondhand desk in a ramshackle building. And since then--
Eight, nine, ten. He picked up the phone, and said:
"Timothy McCracken Detective Agency. McCracken speaking."
"About that rent, McCracken," came a gruff voice. "When you going to pay up?"
"I explained about that yesterday, Mr.--Say, who is this? You're not Mr.
Rogers."
There was a baritone chuckle at the other end of the line.
"Mack, you ought to be a detective, the way you catch on to things. This is Cap Zehnder. How're tricks? Never mind, you just told me."
McCracken grunted disgustedly. "Cap, if I didn't used to work for you, I'd come over and slap your big ears down for that gag."
"Keep your scanties on, Mack," said Zehnder. "That ain't why I called you. If you still think you're a private detective, I got a client for you. He asked for you by name, even. I didn't have to recommend you. Now what do you say?"
"My God!" said McCracken. "Give quick! Where is he?"
"In the jug, right here. Suspicion of murder. It says it heard of you and wants you to help it beat the rap."
"It? What do you mean, it? You started out with a 'he.' "
"Did I?" The captain chuckled. "My error. It's a mocking bird. And it crochets."
"It what?"
"I said crochets. For a hobby. But it's a mocking bird for a vocation. But, I'm not going to explain everything over the phone. If you want to make twelve bucks, come on over."
McCracken gasped. "Twelve bucks? Listen, Cap, they didn't transfer you to the narcotic squad and put you testing samples, did they? What do you mean, twelve bucks?"
"Okay, don't come then," Zehnder said stiffly. "That's all the money, in cash, he's got. But maybe you can blackmail him for more if you get him off. He'll have a salary check coming from the theatre, if they don't fire him."
"But holy cow, Cap, I can't handle a murder investigation for a twelve buck advance. What's it about? Who'd he kill?"