‘A cat,’ said Cyril. ‘Oh, my only aunt! A cat!’
‘Come in, then,’ said Robert. ‘It’s your own look out. I advise you not. Wait a shake, and I’ll undo the side gate.’
He undid the side gate, and the policeman, very cautiously, came in. And there in the kitchen, by the light of one candle, with the mewing and the screaming going like a dozen steam sirens, twenty waiting on motor-cars, and half a hundred squeaking pumps, four agitated voices shouted to the policeman four mixed and wholly different explanations of the very mixed events of the evening.
Did you ever try to explain the simplest thing to a policeman?
CHAPTER 8. THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE BURGLAR
The nursery was full of Persian cats and musk-rats that had been brought there by the wishing carpet. The cats were mewing and the musk-rats were squeaking so that you could hardly hear yourself speak. In the kitchen were the four children, one candle, a concealed Phoenix, and a very visible policeman.
‘Now then, look here,’ said the Policeman, very loudly, and he pointed his lantern at each child in turn, ‘what’s the meaning of this here yelling and caterwauling. I tell you you’ve got a cat here, and some one’s a ill-treating of it. What do you mean by it, eh?’
It was five to one, counting the Phoenix; but the policeman, who was one, was of unusually fine size, and the five, including the Phoenix, were small. The mews and the squeaks grew softer, and in the comparative silence, Cyril said—
‘It’s true. There are a few cats here. But we’ve not hurt them. It’s quite the opposite. We’ve just fed them.’