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Lady Blemley replied that your lack of brain-power was the precise quality which had earned you your invitation, as you were the only person she could think of who might be idiotic enough to buy their old car. You know, the one they call 'The Envy of Sisyphus, because it goes quite nicely up-hill if you push it."
"Would you like to go and see if cook has got your dinner ready?" suggested Lady Blemley hurriedly, affecting to ignore the fact that it wanted at least two hours to Tobermory's dinner-time. "Thanks," said Tobermory, "not quite so soon after my tea. I don't want to die of indigestion." "Cats have nine lives, you know," said Sir Wilfrid heartily.
A shiver of suppressed excitement went through the listeners, and Lady Blemley might be excused for pouring out the saucerful of milk rather unsteadily. "I'm afraid I've spilt a good deal of it," she said apologetically. "After all, it's not my Axminster," was Tobermory's rejoinder.
The guests read steadily through the current batch of magazines, and fell back gradually, on the "Badminton Library" and bound volumes of PUNCH. Lady Blemley made periodic visits to the pantry, returning each time with an expression of listless depression which forestalled questioning. At two o'clock Clovis broke the dominating silence. "He won't turn up to-night.
The undisguised openmouthed attention of the entire party was fixed on the homely negative personality of Mr. Cornelius Appin. Of all her guests, he was the one who had come to Lady Blemley with the vaguest reputation.
From the bites on his throat and the yellow fur which coated his claws it was evident that he had fallen in unequal combat with the big Tom from the Rectory. By midday most of the guests had quitted the Towers, and after lunch Lady Blemley had sufficiently recovered her spirits to write an extremely nasty letter to the Rectory about the loss of her valuable pet.
"Then," said Mrs. Cornett, "Tobermory may be a valuable cat and a great pet; but I'm sure you'll agree, Adelaide, that both he and the stable cat must be done away with without delay." "You don't suppose I've enjoyed the last quarter of an hour, do you?" said Lady Blemley bitterly.
Lady Blemley kept up a flow of what she hoped was conversation, but her attention was fixed on the doorway. A plateful of carefully dosed fish scraps was in readiness on the sideboard, but sweets and savoury and dessert went their way, and no Tobermory appeared either in the dining-room or kitchen. The sepulchral dinner was cheerful compared with the subsequent vigil in the smoking-room.
Somehow there seemed an element of embarrassment in addressing on equal terms a domestic cat of acknowledged dental ability. "Will you have some milk, Tobermory?" asked Lady Blemley in a rather strained voice. "I don't mind if I do," was the response, couched in a tone of even indifference.
This time Clovis very distinctly said, "Beyond-rats!" Sir Wilfrid was more polite, but equally sceptical. "Hadn't we better have the cat in and judge for ourselves?" suggested Lady Blemley. Sir Wilfrid went in search of the animal, and the company settled themselves down to the languid expectation of witnessing some more or less adroit drawing-room ventriloquism.
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