Cat Out of Hell by Lynne Truss

Author:Lynne Truss [Truss, Lynne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61219-443-1
Publisher: Melville House
Published: 2015-03-02T16:00:00+00:00

That night it was windy and bitterly cold. Winterton left at around 10:30; Watson and I escorted him to the main road, where we saw him into a taxi. The bare winter trees were bending and rolling in the wind; light from the street lamps was both feeble and stuttering. We shook hands before he got into the cab. He really was a ridiculous little man, but if he had managed to evade the wrath of the Captain all these years, then there could be no doubt he had hidden depths. We quickly ran over the highlights of the plan we had made.

“Saturday at six,” I said. “Back entrance, near the cycle parking area.”

“Right.”

“You have to be in position, because I’ll only have a few seconds.”

“Right.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m willing to be part of Roger’s story,” I said.

He laughed.

“It’s not Roger you have to worry about,” he said.

Back at the house, I went back to the kitchen and sat for a while at the table. The idea of Mary sitting right there and saying to Winterton, “Don’t ramble, Geoffrey” was both painful and comforting at the same time. I drank the last of the wine and patted Watson. Then I held up a treat above his head and said, with as much confidence as I could muster, “Do the trick?” – and what do you know? He just looked up at the treat and whined, so I gave it to him.

As I blankly stared around the kitchen, I started to wonder whether I was any better than Wiggy, really. Was I missing vital clues staring me in the face, as he had done? After all, I now knew something quite important about Mary’s death: when she had come home from the library on that Monday morning, she had known she was in danger. Working with the shambolic Geoffrey Winterton had attracted the attention of an evil cat – an evil cat capable of devastating a small room and its contents; an evil cat looking for a book written by a famous diabolist on the subject (presumably) of supernatural longevity in cats. Whether she believed in any of this paranormal stuff was immaterial. The point was: what had she done? Being Mary, she had acted. Putting two and two together from what Tawny had told me, I now believed that Mary had retrieved the Seeward pamphlet from the devastated carrel and hidden it elsewhere in the library. My wife was enough of a Sherlock Holmes fan to know that a library was the very best place in which to secrete a book. Behind the inquiries desk in the reading room, she had ascended the small, staff-only spiral staircase to the stacks above. From this I knew one thing for certain: she had not returned the book to the Seeward collection.

Feeling I should do something, I looked up Seeward on the internet. The result should not have surprised me, but it did. I was astonished. Although he had been deceased for 50

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