CHAPTER VII.
PRUDENCE RECEIVES A SHOCK.
Miss Prudence Semaphore slept placidly. It was her nature to do everything as placidly as possible. Nightmares rarely visited her. When Miss Augusta was crosser than usual, or the latest man at 37, Beaconsfield Gardens, on whom she tried to fix her easy affections, showed that he had no thought of her, she sometimes wept herself to sleep. Seldom, however, did she experience the discomfort of a nuit blanche.
On this particular occasion she dreamt that she was flying through space to Florida in search of the Fountain of Youth. Suddenly her wings failed her. She fell like another Icarus down, down, down, awaking with a start and a stifled gasp. She sat bolt upright in bed, and tried to think where she was. The familiar room dimly seen, the light of the street lamps, filtering through the Venetian blinds, the sound of passing cabs, a neighbouring clock chiming three, all reassured her.
With a sigh of relief she turned over to sleep again, when a weird wailing attracted her attention. Miss Prudence listened. Her heart beat fast. The wailing seemed close at hand. Did it come from above or below? Noises are proverbially difficult to locate. Miss Prudence subscribed to “Borderland,” and a thousand unpleasant conjectures assailed her. There was something unearthly, she fancied, in the cry, and though she muttered “ridiculous,” the exclamation did not entirely restore her presence of mind. So far, indeed, was the idea from being really ridiculous to her, that, as the sound continued to rise and fall feebly, Miss Prudence lay back in bed, and pulled the clothes over her head. She could not be happy thus, however. Half suffocated, she emerged from time to time to hear if it still continued. When at last it ceased, somewhat tranquillised by the silence, she pulled down the blankets and began to consider what the cause of disturbance could possibly be.
A solution flashed through her mind—the kitten! She remembered suddenly that Mrs. Dumaresq had lately complained of a pet kitten that played about the house having strayed into her room, and been locked up accidentally in the wardrobe.
“The very thing! It must be the kitten,” thought Miss Prudence.
The wail, after a short interval, was renewed, and this time Miss Prudence distinctly recognised the cry of a young cat.
Full of courage she jumped out of bed, struck a light, put on her dressing-gown and slippers, and began to search for pussy.
She tried the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, looked under the bed and up the chimney, but in vain. The creature was not to be found. As she passed the door communicating with her sister’s room, it seemed to her that the sound came from there.
She opened the door softly, and shading the light with one hand, gently called “puss, puss, puss.” Nothing came. The cry, however, sounded distinctly nearer, louder, and more human.