It was a chill, rain-washed afternoon of a
late August day, that indefinite season when partridges are still in security
or cold storage, and there is nothing to hunt - unless one is bounded on the
north by the Bristol Channel, in which case one may lawfully gallop after fat
red stags. Lady Blemley's house-party was not bounded on the north by the
Bristol Channel, hence there was a full gathering of her guests round the
tea-table on this particular afternoon. And, in spite of the blankness of the
season and the triteness of the occasion, there was no trace in the company of
that fatigued restlessness which means a dread of the pianola and a subdued
hankering for auction bridge. The undisguised open-mouthed attention of the entire
party was fixed on the homely negative personality of Mr. Cornelius Appin. Of
all her guests, he was the one who had come to Lady Blemley with the vaguest
reputation. Some one had said he was "clever," and he had got his
invitation in the moderate expectation, on the part of his hostess, that some
portion at least of his cleverness would be contributed to the general
entertainment. Until tea-time that day she had been unable to discover in what
direction, if any, his cleverness lay. He was neither a wit nor a croquet
champion, a hypnotic force nor a begetter of amateur theatricals. Neither did
his exterior suggest the sort of man in whom women are willing to pardon a
generous measure of mental deficiency. He had subsided into mere Mr. Appin, and
the Cornelius seemed a piece of transparent baptismal bluff. And now he was
claiming to have launched on the world a discovery beside which the invention
of gunpowder, of the printing-press, and of steam locomotion were
inconsiderable trifles. Science had made bewildering strides in many directions
during recent decades, but this thing seemed to belong to the domain of miracle
rather than to scientific achievement.
"And do you really ask us to believe," Sir Wilfrid was saying,
"that you have discovered a means for instructing animals in the art of
human speech, and that dear old Tobermory has proved your first successful
pupil?"
"It is a problem at which I have worked for the last seventeen
years," said Mr. Appin, "but only during the last eight or nine
months have I been rewarded with glimmerings of success. Of course I have
experimented with thousands of animals, but latterly only with cats, those
wonderful creatures which have assimilated themselves so marvellously with our
civilization while retaining all their highly developed feral instincts. Here
and there among cats one comes across an outstanding superior intellect, just
as one does among the ruck of human beings, and when I made the acquaintance of
Tobermory a week ago I saw at once that I was in contact with a `Beyond-cat' of
extraordinary intelligence. I had gone far along the road to success in recent
experiments; with Tobermory, as you call him, I have reached the goal."
Mr. Appin concluded his remarkable statement in a voice which he strove
to divest of a triumphant inflection. No one said "Rats," though
Clovis's lips moved in a monosyllabic contortion which probably invoked those
rodents of disbelief.
"And do you mean to say," asked Miss Resker, after a slight
pause, "that you have taught Tobermory to say and understand easy
sentences of one syllable?"
"My dear Miss Resker," said the wonder-worker patiently,
"one teaches little children and savages and backward adults in that
piecemeal fashion; when one has once solved the problem of making a beginning
with an animal of highly developed intelligence one has no need for those
halting methods. Tobermory can speak our language with perfect
correctness."
This time Clovis very distinctly said, "Beyond-rats!" Sir Wilfrid
was more polite, but equally sceptical.
"Hadn't we better have the cat in and judge for ourselves?"
suggested Lady Blemley.
Sir Wilfrid went in search of the animal, and the company settled
themselves down to the languid expectation of witnessing some more or less
adroit drawing-room ventriloquism.
In a minute Sir Wilfrid was back in the room, his face white beneath its
tan and his eyes dilated with excitement. "By Gad, it's true!"
His agitation was unmistakably genuine, and his hearers started forward
in a thrill of awakened interest.
Collapsing into an armchair he continued breathlessly: "I found him
dozing in the smoking-room and called out to him to come for his tea. He
blinked at me in his usual way, and I said, 'Come on, Toby; don't keep us
waiting'; and, by Gad! he drawled out in a most horribly natural voice that
he'd come when he dashed well pleased! I nearly jumped out of my skin!"
Appin had preached to absolutely incredulous hearers; Sir Wilfred's
statement carried instant conviction. A Babel-like chorus of startled
exclamation arose, amid which the scientist sat mutely enjoying the first fruit
of his stupendous discovery.
In the midst of the clamour Tobermory entered the room and made his way
with velvet tread and studied unconcern across to the group seated round the
tea-table.
A sudden hush of awkwardness and constraint fell on the company. Somehow
there seemed an element of embarrassment in addressing on equal terms a
domestic cat of acknowledged mental ability.
"Will you have some milk, Tobermory?" asked Lady Blemley in a
rather strained voice.
"I don't mind if I do," was the response, couched in a tone of
even indifference. A shiver of suppressed excitement went through the
listeners, and Lady Blemley might be excused for pouring out the saucerful of
milk rather unsteadily.
"I'm afraid I've spilt a good deal of it," she said
apologetically.
"After all, it's not my Axminster," was Tobermory's rejoinder.
Another silence fell on the group, and then Miss Resker, in her best
district-visitor manner, asked if the human language had been difficult to
learn. Tobermory looked squarely at her for a moment and then fixed his gaze
serenely on the middle distance. It was obvious that boring questions lay
outside his scheme of life.
"What do you think of human intelligence?" asked Mavis
Pellington lamely.
"Of whose intelligence in particular?" asked Tobermory coldly.
"Oh, well, mine for instance," said Mavis, with a feeble
laugh.
"You put me in an embarrassing position," said Tobermory,
whose tone and attitude certainly did not suggest a shred of embarrassment.
"When your inclusion in this house-party was suggested, Sir Wilfrid
protested that you were the most brainless woman of his acquaintance, and that
there was a wide distinction between hospitality and the care of the
feeble-minded. Lady Blemley replied that your lack of brain-power was the
precise quality which had earned you your invitation, as you were the only
person she could think of who might be idiotic enough to buy their old car. You
know, the one they call 'The Envy of Sisyphus,' because it goes quite nicely
up-hill if you push it."
Lady Blemley's protestations would have had greater effect if she had
not casually suggested to Mavis only that morning that the car in question
would be just the thing for her down at her Devonshire home.
Major Barfield plunged in heavily to effect a diversion.
"How about your carryings-on with the tortoise-shell puss up at the
stables, eh?"
The moment he had said it every one realized the blunder.
"One does not usually discuss these matters in public," said
Tobermory frigidly. "From a slight observation of your ways since you've
been in this house I should imagine you'd find it inconvenient if I were to
shift the conversation on to your own little affairs."
The panic which ensued was not confined to the Major.
"Would you like to go and see if cook has got your dinner
ready?" suggested Lady Blemley hurriedly, affecting to ignore the fact
that it wanted at least two hours to Tobermory's dinner-time.
"Thanks," said Tobermory, "not quite so soon after my
tea. I don't want to die of indigestion."
"Cats have nine lives, you know," said Sir Wilfrid heartily.
"Possibly", answered Tobermory; "but only one
liver."
"Adelaide!" said Mrs. Cornett, "do you mean to encourage
that cat to go out and gossip about us in the servants' hall?"
The panic had indeed become general. A narrow ornamental balustrade ran
in front of most of the bedroom windows at the Towers, and it was recalled with
dismay that this had formed a favourite promenade for Tobermory at all hours,
whence he could watch the pigeons - and heaven knew what else besides. If he
intended to become reminiscent in his present outspoken strain the effect would
be something more than disconcerting. Mrs. Cornett, who spent much time at her
toilet table, and whose complexion was reputed to be of a nomadic though
punctual disposition, looked as ill at ease as the Major. Miss Scrawen, who
wrote fiercely sensuous poetry and led a blameless life, merely displayed irritation;
if you are methodical and virtuous in private you don't necessarily want every
one to know it. Bertie van Tahn, who was so depraved at seventeen that he had
long ago given up trying to be any worse, turned a dull shade of gardenia
white, but he did not commit the error of dashing out of the room like Odo
Finsberry, a young gentleman who was understood to be reading for the Church
and who was possibly disturbed at the thought of scandals he might hear
concerning other people. Clovis had the presence of mind to maintain a composed
exterior; privately he was calculating how long it would take to procure a box
of fancy mice through the agency of the Exchange and Mart as a species of
hush-money.
Even in a delicate situation like the present, Agnes Resker could not
endure to remain too long in the background.
"Why did I ever come down here?" she asked dramatically.
Tobermory immediately accepted the opening.
"Judging by what you said to Mrs. Cornett on the croquet-lawn
yesterday, you were out for food. You described the Blemleys as the dullest
people to stay with that you knew, but said they were clever enough to employ a
first-rate cook; otherwise they'd find it difficult to get any one to come down
a second time."
"There's not a word of truth in it! I appeal to Mrs.
Cornett--" exclaimed the discomfited Agnes.
"Mrs. Cornett repeated your remark afterwards to Bertie van
Tahn," continued Tobermory, "and said, 'That woman is a regular
Hunger Marcher; she'd go anywhere for four square meals a day,' and Bertie van
Tahn said--"
At this point the chronicle mercifully ceased. Tobermory had caught a
glimpse of the big yellow Tom from the Rectory working his way through the
shrubbery towards the stable wing. In a flash he had vanished through the open
French window.
With the disappearance of his too brilliant pupil Cornelius Appin found
himself beset by a hurricane of bitter upbraiding, anxious inquiry, and
frightened entreaty. The responsibility for the situation lay with him, and he
must prevent matters from becoming worse. Could Tobermory impart his dangerous
gift to other cats? was the first question he had to answer. It was possible,
he replied, that he might have initiated his intimate friend the stable puss
into his new accomplishment, but it was unlikely that his teaching could have
taken a wider range as yet.
"Then," said Mrs. Cornett, "Tobermory may be a valuable
cat and a great pet; but I'm sure you'll agree, Adelaide, that both he and the
stable cat must be done away with without delay."
"You don't suppose I've enjoyed the last quarter of an hour, do
you?" said Lady Blemley bitterly. "My husband and I are very fond of
Tobermory - at least, we were before this horrible accomplishment was infused
into him; but now, of course, the only thing is to have him destroyed as soon
as possible."
"We can put some strychnine in the scraps he always gets at
dinner-time," said Sir Wilfrid, "and I will go and drown the stable
cat myself. The coachman will be very sore at losing his pet, but I'll say a
very catching form of mange has broken out in both cats and we're afraid of its
spreading to the kennels."
"But my great discovery!" expostulated Mr. Appin; "after
all my years of research and experiment--"
"You can go and experiment on the short-horns at the farm, who are
under proper control," said Mrs. Cornett, "or the elephants at the
Zoological Gardens. They're said to be highly intelligent, and they have this
recommendation, that they don't come creeping about our bedrooms and under
chairs, and so forth."
An archangel ecstatically proclaiming the Millennium, and then finding
that it clashed unpardonably with Henley and would have to be indefinitely
postponed, could hardly have felt more crestfallen than Cornelius Appin at the
reception of his wonderful achievement. Public opinion, however, was against
him - in fact, had the general voice been consulted on the subject it is
probable that a strong minority vote would have been in favour of including him
in the strychnine diet.
Defective train arrangements and a nervous desire to see matters brought
to a finish prevented an immediate dispersal of the party, but dinner that
evening was not a social success. Sir Wilfrid had had rather a trying time with
the stable cat and subsequently with the coachman. Agnes Resker ostentatiously
limited her repast to a morsel of dry toast, which she bit as though it were a
personal enemy; while Mavis Pellington maintained a vindictive silence
throughout the meal. Lady Blemley kept up a flow of what she hoped was
conversation, but her attention was fixed on the doorway. A plateful of
carefully dosed fish scraps was in readiness on the sideboard, but sweets and
savoury and dessert went their way, and no Tobermory appeared either in the
dining-room or kitchen.
The sepulchral dinner was cheerful compared with the subsequent vigil in
the smoking-room. Eating and drinking had at least supplied a distraction and
cloak to the prevailing embarrassment. Bridge was out of the question in the
general tension of nerves and tempers, and after Odo Finsberry had given a
lugubrious rendering of "Melisande in the Wood" to a frigid audience,
music was tacitly avoided. At eleven the servants went to bed, announcing that
the small window in the pantry had been left open as usual for Tobermory's
private use. The guests read steadily through the current batch of magazines,
and fell back gradually on the "Badminton Library" and bound volumes
of Punch. Lady Blemley made periodic visits to the pantry, returning each time
with an expression of listless depression which forestalled questioning.
At two o'clock Clovis broke the dominating silence.
"He won't turn up tonight. He's probably in the local newspaper
office at the present moment, dictating the first instalment of his
reminiscences. Lady What's-her-name's book won't be in it. It will be the event
of the day."
Having made this contribution to the general cheerfulness, Clovis went
to bed. At long intervals the various members of the house-party followed his
example.
The servants taking round the early tea made a uniform announcement in
reply to a uniform question. Tobermory had not returned.
Breakfast was, if anything, a more unpleasant function than dinner had
been, but before its conclusion the situation was relieved. Tobermory's corpse
was brought in from the shrubbery, where a gardener had just discovered it.
From the bites on his throat and the yellow fur which coated his claws it was
evident that he had fallen in unequal combat with the big Tom from the Rectory.
By midday most of the guests had quitted the Towers, and after lunch
Lady Blemley had sufficiently recovered her spirits to write an extremely nasty
letter to the Rectory about the loss of her valuable pet.
Tobermory had been Appin's one successful pupil, and he was destined to
have no successor. A few weeks later an elephant in the Dresden Zoological
Garden, which had shown no previous signs of irritability, broke loose and
killed an Englishman who had apparently been teasing it. The victim's name was
variously reported in the papers as Oppin and Eppelin, but his front name was
faithfully rendered Cornelius.
"If he was trying German irregular verbs on the poor beast,"
said Clovis, "he deserved all he got."