The Shadow - 325 - The Whispering Eyes by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1949-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI. THE TALE OF A CAT

COMMISSIONER WESTON arrived a short while later along with the medical examiner. Weston was not surprised to see Lamont Cranston. It happened that Cardona had put in calls to several places for the commissioner, including the Cobalt Club, so Weston supposed that Cranston had been called there. Besides, Weston wasn’t interested in minor matters. He was too intrigued by the scene of murder, including the white Persian cat that now rated as a witness.

Weston emphasized that point after hearing the testimony that Clyde Burke offered.

“If that cat could talk, Burke,” commented the commissioner, “it would probably tell us more than you have. At that, it’s done a better job, because you’ve told us less than nothing.”

Even Cranston was looking rebukingly at Clyde, though that was only an act on Cranston’s part. But Clyde could count one friend, his fellow-witness, the cat. The Persian, strolling about the room, kept rubbing against Clyde’s legs, giving well-modulated purrs of approval. Then, as it stalked over toward the door, the cat suddenly arched its back, looked upward, and gave the peculiar hiss that Cardona had earlier mistaken for a whisper.

Weston was looking down at the cat, and he gave a disapproving grunt.

“You’re a trifle mixed, kitty,” said the commissioner, “You’ve no reason to be annoyed at me. Go over there and glare at Inspector Cardona. He’s the man who disturbed you.”

Apparently, the cat was paying no attention to Weston, which wasn’t particularly unusual. From its manner, though, it was interested in something, so Cranston gestured the commissioner aside in order to watch the cat. Instead of following Weston with its eyes, the cat arched its back further, turned its gaze toward the door and began a slow, defensive retreat.

Cranston caught the idea at once.

“Intelligent creatures, cats,” remarked Cranston, “Less responsive in some ways than certain other animals, but far ahead in matters that concern their own world or disturb their habits. They seldom display the imitative traits that cause people to consider animals clever. You might call it indifference, but that in itself is something akin to wisdom.

“Cats combine instinct with experience,” continued Cranston. “During kittenhood, they stalk each other, taking turns at pretending they are prey. They scramble up trees as far as they can climb, as if measuring each attempt against the previous. But when the test comes, they reach the first branch, even if it is higher than the cross-bars of a telephone pole.”

Cranston’s remarks were punctuated by plaintive meows from the white cat. Either it understood his comments or expected him to understand cat language.

“When cats are treed,” declared Cranston, “they know it. Check with the fire department, commissioner, and ask them how often they are called to Brooklyn, or wherever else trees grow, to rescue cats with fire ladders. That’s not a sign that cats are stupid; quite the contrary. You won’t find other animals smart enough to depend on humans to help them out of a dilemma.

“This cat”- Cranston gestured to the

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