Carpentaria himself had little sleep; he scarcely tried to sleep. He arose at seven o’clock, and dressed and went out on to the balcony. The rain had ceased, and the Sunday morning was exquisitely calm and sunny. The whole scene was so bright and clear that the events of six hours ago appeared fantastic and impossible. Yet Carpentaria knew only too well that the unidentified corpse lay in the outhouse. He meant first to examine the corpse himself, and then to confide in a certain official of the city whom he knew that he could trust. What he should do after that he could not imagine. Decidely some process of burial would be speedily imperative.
All the blinds of the Ilam bungalow were drawn. He guessed that at least the upper ones would remain so, and he was somewhat taken aback when Mrs. Ilam herself appeared at a window and opened it. He was still more taken aback to see Mrs. Ilam a moment later open the door, and with much stateliness cross the avenue to his own dwelling. He knew that she was friendly with Juliette, and that Juliette liked her. He, too, had admired her, but only because she was so old and so masterful, such a surprising relic. That she should be accessory to a crime did not seem strange to him. He esteemed her to be a woman capable of anything. He would have to warn Juliette.
At eight o’clock a servant brought up the French breakfast with which, under Juliette’s influence, he compromised with hunger till lunch-time; and with the breakfast came, as usual, the cat Beppo. The breakfast consisted of a two-handled bowl of milk and a fresh roll and a pat of butter. Beppo seemed determined to share the breakfast without delay. Carpentaria, as was his frequent practice, took the roll off its plate and poured on the plate as much milk as it would hold. And Beppo, to whom milk was the answer to the riddle of the universe, leapt on to the table and began to lap in his gluttonous masculine way. He had taken exactly four laps when he ceased to lap. He looked up at his master, and there was a disturbed and pained expression in his amber eyes. This expression changed in an instant to one of positive fright. He was evidently breathing with difficulty, and he was rather at sea, for he groped about on the table and put both his forepaws into the bowl, splashing the milk in all directions. He then gave a fearful shriek; his pupils dilated horribly in spite of the strong sunshine, and he went into convulsions. His breath came quick and short. Finally, he fell off the table.
He was dead.
Less than three minutes previously he had been a cat full of power, of romance, and of the joy of life, with comfortable views on most things.
CHAPTER VIII—Disappearance of Juliette
People may read about crimes in newspapers all their lives, and yet never properly realize that crime exists. To appreciate what crime is, one must be brought to close quarters with crime, as Carpentaria was. Twelve hours ago murder to him had been nothing but a name. Now he knew the horror that murder inspires. And with the corpse of the cat Beppo lying at his feet, he felt that horror far more keenly even than in the night as he unearthed the corpse of the mysterious drunken man. He had actually seen the cat done to death, and had it not been for the greediness of Beppo, he himself would have lain there, stretched out in eternal quiet.
He looked at the half-empty bowl of milk and at the splashes of milk on the round painted table, reflecting that each splash was no doubt sufficient to kill a man.