"The pails!" Qwilleran shouted. "Someone took the pails!" He hurried to the housephone in the kitchen and said to a surprised Mrs. Tuttle, "What happened to my pails?" "Your what?" she asked. "This is Qwilleran in 14-A. There were plastic pails standing around my living room to catch drips when the skylight leaks. What happened to them? It might rain!" "Oh, I forgot to tell you," she apologized. "The man was here to fix the skylight today, so Rupert collected the pails. I forgot to tell you during the trouble with Mrs. Button." "I see. Sorry to bother you." He tamped his moustache. He would have to speak firmly to Rupert about feeding the animals. But his annoyance at the custodian was erased by his admiration for Koko. That cat had known the exact location of every pail!
Now Qwilleran was twice as hungry. Carrying the clean plastic plate he returned to the Carriage House Caf‚.
"Oh, it's you again!" cried the cashier in delight. "How did you like the special? You didn't need to bring the plate back right away." "It was so good," Qwilleran said, "that I'd like to do it all over again, including that delicious coleslaw and perhaps two rolls if you can spare them." He sat on a stool at the counter, and the cashier insisted on serving him herself, while the cook waved a friendly hand in the small window of the kitchen door and later sent out a complimentary slice of apple pie.
Thus fortified, Qwilleran returned to the Casablanca, where he found the red-hatted Rupert sitting at the manager's desk, reading a comic book. "I notice that the skylight's been repaired," he said to the custodian.
"Yep. No more leaks." The man held up crossed fingers.
"How did you get along with the cats when you picked up the pails?" "Okay. I gave 'em a jelly doughnut. They gobbled it up." "Jelly doughnut!" Qwilleran was aghast.
Rupert, misunderstanding his reaction, excused the apparent extravagance by explaining that it was a stale doughnut that had been lying around the basement for several days.
Controlling himself, Qwilleran said in a friendly way, "I'd rather you wouldn't give the cats any treats if you have occasion to enter the apartment, Rupert. They're on a strict diet because of... because of their kidneys." "Yeah, cats always have trouble with their kidneys, seems if." "But thanks for collecting the pails, friend. You're right on the ball!" Then Qwilleran rode up to Fourteen on Old Red and confronted the Siamese. "Stale jelly doughnut!" he said in indignation. "You ate a stale jelly doughnut! And yet you guys turn up your nose at a fresh can of salmon if it's pink! You hypocrites!" Changing into a warm-up suit, he locked himself into the library to study the Grinchman & Hills report. It appeared to be a formidable task, and he wanted no one sitting on his lap or purring in his ear.
The introduction described the original structure, as Amber had quoted from the SOCK brochure. Then came the chapter on necessary improvements, which Qwilleran condensed on a legal pad as follows:
* Clean and repair exterior and restore ornamentation.
* Restore grassy park on west side and porte cochere on the east.
* Acquire property behind building for parking structure.
* New roof and skylight.
* New triple-glazed windows throughout, custom-made.
* Mechanical update: elevators, heating and air-conditioning, plumbing, wiring, TV cables, and intercom.
* Remove superimposed floorings, false walls, and dropped ceilings.
* Restore former apartment spaces with maids' rooms.
* Update bathrooms in the character of the original.
* Restore marble, woodwork, paneling, mosaic tile.
* Duplicate original light fixtures, custom-made.
* Furnish lobby as before: Spanish furniture, Oriental rugs, oil paintings.
* Reinstate restaurant on Fourteen, converting pool area into sidewalk caf‚.
* Landscape terrace in 1900 style.
* Update basement apartments for staff.
* Redesign kitchen and laundry facilities.
* Preserve owner's apartment on Twelve as refurbished in 1925.
After compiling this ambitious list, Qwilleran blew into his moustache - an expression of incredulity. Turning to the final chapter he had greater cause for disbelief; the bottom line was in nine digits. He emitted an audible gulp! Such a sum was beyond his comprehension. Despite his inheritance, he still bought his shirts on sale and telephoned long distance during the discount hours. Nevertheless, he knew that the Klingenschoen Fund was accustomed to disbursing hundreds of millions without blinking, and he managed not to blink, although he gulped audibly.
As he mused on the possibilities and problems of such an extensive restoration, the hush of the library was broken by the sound of drumbeats. They were coming through the wall from 14-B. Thump thump thump dum-dum thump dum-dum thump BONG! The final beat reverberated like a Chinese gong. Then he heard a shrill voice, although the words were inaudible, followed by a repetition of the drumbeats.
He went out on the terrace and walked past the French doors of 14-B, but the blinds were closed as before. Next he went out to the elevator lobby and listened at his neighbor's door. He could hear a voice chanting, then more thumps and a BONG! He was standing with his ear close to the door when noises in the elevator shaft alerted him, and he sprang back just as Old Red debouched a creature with spiky hair, wearing black tights, black boots, a black poncho, and black eye makeup.
"Good evening," he said to the creature, giving his greeting a neighborly inflection.
Without replying, he or she darted past him, hammered on the door of 14-B, and was admitted amid birdlike shrieks.
The charivari had no effect on the Siamese, who were sleeping soundly somewhere, full of crab-meat and stale jelly doughnut. Qwilleran spent the next two hours in the gallery, however, with the French doors closed and the stereo volume turned to high.
Toward the end of the evening, when the thumps and bongs had subsided, he heard a commotion in the halclass="underline" the door of 14-B slamming, a cacophony of shrill voices. He grabbed his wastebasket and opened his front door on the pretext of putting out his rubbish. As he did so, he caught sight of more creatures in black, chattering and shrieking like inhabitants of a rain forest as they boarded Old Red. When they saw him, they fell silent and stared with black-rimmed eyes. The elevator door closed and Old Red descended. Qwilleran told himself with a chuckle that they were members of some kind of satanic cult, and Old Red was taking them down to the infernal regions.
Perhaps it was the sudden silence that roused the Siamese, or their internal clock told them it was time for their eleven o'clock treat. Whatever alerted them, they wandered out from wherever they had been sleeping and performed the ritual of yawning and stretching, first two forelegs and then one hind leg. Koko jumped to the desktop and nosed the Grinchman & Hills report. Yum Yum stood on her hind legs and placed her paws on the edge of the wastebasket, peering into its depths in hope of finding a crumpled paper or piece of string.
"I don't know about you," Qwilleran said to the pair, "but I've had a most interesting evening. If we do what the architects suggest, this building will no longer look like a refrigerator, and it won't be a sore thumb on Zwinger Boulevard.
The lobby will be a showplace; the apartments will be palatial; the rooftop restaurant will be exclusive; and they'll no longer allow cats. How do you react to that?" "Yow," said Koko, who was now examining the library sofa. It was covered with fake leopard, and he knew it was not the real thing. Industriously, with vertical tail, he sniffed the seams, pawed the button tufting, and reached down behind the seat cushions. Some of his memorable discoveries had been made behind seat cushions: cocktail crackers, paper clips, folding money, pencils, and small articles of clothing. Now he was scrabbling so assiduously that Qwilleran went to his aid. He removed one of the seat cushions, and there - tucked in the crevice between the seat platform and the sofa-back - was an item of gold jewelry.