The Case of the Careless Kitten

Purring its pleasure, the kitten lapped up the warm, creamy milk, and Della Street, slipping quietly out of the kitchen, gently closed the door so Tragg wouldn’t hear the click of the latch. She hastily threw the covers back into place on the bed, tucked the sheet in, fluffed the pillows, placed them in the clips at the foot of the bed, and pushed the bed back up against the wall, turning the revolving door so the bed was concealed in the closet. She pushed the chairs back into position, working against time.

She put on her street coat, adjusted her hat more by instinct than any desire for facial adornment, opened the door and gave Lieutenant Tragg the benefit of her best smile.

“All ready,” she said. “Nice of you to offer to drive me to the office. I suppose, however, it’s not entirely philanthropic.”

“It isn’t,” Tragg said.

“A Greek, bearing gifts?”

“Exactly. Nice place you have there. Nice southeast exposure.”

“Isn’t it,” Della Street said, tugging at the doorknob.

“You’re all alone here?”

“Of course.”

Tragg took a step forward so that his shoulder blocked the closing door. “Tell you what, Miss Street, we may as well talk in here for just a minute.”

“I haven’t time. I’ve got to be at the office.”

“I think this is more important than being at the office,” Tragg said.

“Well, we could talk in your car, or...”

“It’s hard to talk, driving a car,” Tragg said, moving on into the apartment and walking apparently in a most casual manner over to the davenport.

Della Street sighed in exasperation, stood in the doorway, fully aware of the fact that his sharp, police-trained eyes, were taking in every detail.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I simply have to get to work. I haven’t time either to be interviewed or to argue about being interviewed... and I can’t leave you here.”

Tragg apparently didn’t hear her. “Certainly is a nice place. Well, if you insist I’ll come along, although I’d prefer to talk here.”

He paused, apparently to adjust his tie in the mirror, but Della realized that from the position in which he was standing he could see a reflection of the bathroom through the open door.

“Will you please come, Lieutenant.”

“Coming,” he said. “Lord, I certainly look as though I’d been up all night. You won’t mind driving with such a disreputable specimen?”

“Just so we get started,” Della Street said firmly.

“What’s this door?” Tragg asked, indicating the kitchen door.

“It’s a door,” she said angrily. “Surely, you’ve seen doors before, Lieutenant. They’re composed of wood. They’re hung on hinges, and they swing back and forth.”

“Do they indeed!” Tragg said, his eyes fastened to the door.

Della Street came angrily back into the apartment. “Now you look here,” she said sharply. “I don’t know what you’re after. You’re not going to come in and snoop around my apartment any time you want to. If you want to search my place, go get a warrant. If you have anything to say to me, say it on the way to the office. I’m starting now, and you’re getting out!”

Tragg looked into the angry defiance of her eyes, said with an ingratiating smile, “Surely, Miss Street, you don’t object to my looking around your apartment.”

“I most certainly do.”

“Why? Are you hiding someone?”

“I give you my word of honor, there’s no other human being in this apartment except myself. Now, does that satisfy you?”

He met the steady anger of her eyes and said, “Yes.”

She let him start first for the door, followed along close behind, this time ready to slam the door shut and let the spring lock snap into position.

Tragg was just stepping over the threshold, and Della Street’s hand was on the doorknob when there came an ear-piercing scream of feline anguish, a scream which changed both its pitch and location with great speed.

“Oh, my heavens!” Della Street exclaimed, suddenly remembering that she habitually left the kitchen window open a few inches for ventilation.

There was no mistaking the sound. This was no mere cry of feline impatience, but a squall of agony.

That cry appealed to the maternal in Della Street. She would no more have abandoned that kitten to its fate in order to save herself from a felony charge than she would have refused to rush to the aid of a child.

Lieutenant Tragg was right behind her as she raced through the apartment’s living room into the kitchenette. His head was at her shoulder as she flung open the kitchen window.

What had happened was only too apparent. The pulley which held the manila rope clothesline was fastened directly beside the kitchen window. Amber Eyes, crawling to the sill and peering out, had been intrigued by the rope. He had hooked a paw around it and, in trying to withdraw that paw, his claws had caught and held. As his weight came against the clothesline, it had started to slide through the well-oiled pulley. There was plenty of slack in that line and Amber Eyes had found himself sailing out through space at a dizzy height above the ground. His other paws had locked around the clothesline, leaving him hanging head downward, squalling with pop-eyed terror, his tail switching back and forth, then fluffing out to huge proportions.