Tish Marches On

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  Eventually, however, Tish prevailed on them to call up Charlie Sands. He had been asleep and was in a very bad humor. At first, what with the blacking still on our faces, he told the police captain in charge that he did not know us. Then he looked again, and closed his eyes and shuddered.

  “I hate to admit it,” he said, “but they’re mine. At least one of them is. And if we can go off in a corner somewhere I guess I can explain. All but the ham,” he added firmly. “I don’t propose to explain the ham. It was not on the agenda.”

  It was one o’clock in the morning before we were released, and the last thing I saw was the sergeant at the desk with a knife, cutting at that wretched ham while a group of hungry-looking policemen surrounded him. But on the way out Aggie caught at my arm again and sneezed once more.

  “There it is agaid,” she hissed.

  “What is?”

  “The car that followed us,” she said.

  There was a car across the street, but when we looked at it it moved on. Also our attention was distracted by Charlie Sands, who was looking at us and our belongings in a most unpleasant manner.

  “Now get this,” he said. “The mouse business is out. Definitely out. I don’t want a mouse. I never want to hear of a mouse again. If anyone says ‘mouse’ to me from now on I shall froth at the mouth. Now I am taking you to wherever you left your car and after that I am taking the receiver off my telephone hook and going to bed. Is that understood?”

  “You asked us to do you a favor,” Tish said tartly. “If this is your gratitude—”

  “Gratitude!” he said bitterly. “Look at me! I am aging rapidly. I am stoop-shouldered with care. If anyone mentions the police to me I shiver, and if my telephone rings at night I leap out of bed with a loud shriek. I ask you, why?”

  He said nothing more until he had driven us back to our car. Then he saw the trap which Tish was carrying, and looked at it in surprise.

  “What in God’s name is that?” he demanded. “The model of a steel mill?”

  “It is a mousetrap,” Tish informed him.

  But he merely gave a low moan, got into his car, and drove off with extreme rapidity.

  III

  IN SUMMARIZING THE SITUATION later, I can see that a number of elements contributed largely to our trouble. Certainly it is not true that we were discovered beating our unfortunate Aggie or that we inaugurated any reign of terror during the following hours; the incident of the fire hydrant was entirely accidental, and there was certainly no dog caught in the upflow of water and held there. Similarly, the situation at the peanut stand was the product of emergency.

  But we have always maintained that had Charlie Sands not been incommunicado at the time of our second arrest some of these incidents need not have occurred.

  For we were arrested again that night, and due to no fault of our own.

  I dare say we should have gone home after that failure at the butchershop. I myself needed arnica badly, and Aggie had taken a severe cold. Tish, however, was for going on to Caspari’s, and so as usual we followed our dauntless leader.

  I must say that our entrance at the restaurant aroused some attention, for we had forgotten the blacking on our faces and were still carrying the butterfly net, mousetrap, flashlight, cheese, and so on. Indeed, I am quite certain that I saw Paula at one of the tables, but as she at once looked away I realized she did not know us.

  Mr. Caspari was most hospitable, having even prepared a basket of sandwiches for our long vigil, and the moment we reached the cellar we felt that our difficulties were over. The place was fairly overrun with mice, and Aggie at once climbed onto a box and, sneezing at intervals, held her skirts tightly around her.

  It was not necessary, as Tish observed, to follow our previous technique. All that was needed was to select a good specimen, and I shall always remember her as, armed with the butterfly net, she stood poised for action. Nevertheless, it was here that trouble overtook us, and the beginning of the more serious events of the night.

  Tish had at last discovered a fine specimen on a beam overhead and was stalking it carefully when from the stairs there came again the same blinding flash of light as had followed our arrest; and this was followed by a series of bloodcurdling screams from Aggie.

  In an instant she had leaped from the box and, in spite of our efforts to calm her, ran still shrieking up the stairs and into the restaurant. By the time Tish and I had picked up our impedimenta she had reached the street and was in fact almost a block away.

  Encumbered as we were it was some time before we reached her, and then only because she had virtually collapsed onto a doorstep. She was so exhausted that we had to bend over her to hear her.

  “What in the world happened to you?” Tish demanded.

  It was with an effort that Aggie spoke.

  “The bouse,” she whispered. “You docked it idside my waist. It’s there dow.”

  She then broke into loud weeping, and it was while we were exploring for the creature that the police car drew up and two men jumped out and jerked us away with terrific force.

  “Shame on you,” said one of them. “Attacking a defenseless woman! What did you lose, lady? A pocketbook?”

  Aggie pulled herself together and suddenly clapped her hand to her mouth.

  “By upper teeth,” she said wildly. “I’ve lost by upper teeth.”

  They seemed astounded, for one of them observed that that was a new one to him.

  “Now see here,” he said to Tish. “You give this poor soul her teeth, and then we’ll go to the station house and put you two dentists where you can work on each other.”

  It was in vain that we attempted to explain, and Aggie was of little assistance. True, the mouse had either gone or was quiescent, but her mind was entirely occupied with her missing teeth. In a sort of dreadful silence we were taken once more to the police station, only to find that Officer O’Brien was still there and that he grinned most disagreeably when he heard the charge.

  “Teeth!” he said. “My God, they not only steal food. They steal the teeth to chew it with!”

  We were greatly relieved when a police matron, having searched Aggie, found no mouse; and as her teeth were certainly not in our possession, and she would make no charge of assault against us, we were finally released. Just before we departed, however, Officer O’Brien lifted the lid of Mr. Caspari’s basket and saw the sandwiches, and I thought his eyes would pop out of his head.

  “Now listen, sarge,” he said earnestly. “I can swallow the butterfly net if you say so. I’ll swallow the mousetrap, and even the mouse, if you say the word. But either there’s something screwy about these women gathering up food or I’m a two-headed tapeworm.”

  He was still staring at us as we departed, and I remember that he followed us into the street, observing that the next time he could do with a stein of beer and some pretzels. But we ignored him and the last we saw of him for some hours was as he stood on the pavement, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief and gazing after us.

  It required some time to recover the teeth, but we found them at last, fortunately unbroken. And it was at that moment that Aggie, glancing up from the search, caught at my arm and said that the mysterious car had followed us once more.

  This time there was no doubt of it. It was coming slowly along, and when it reached us it stopped.

  What was our relief when a familiar figure emerged, and a familiar voice spoke to us.

  “Well, ladies,” it said. “What luck so far?”

  It was Mr. Smith.

  I pause here to recall that moment, and to justify our further conduct. What reason had we to suspect him, especially as he at once stated that he had followed us throughout the evening for our own protection, and that he knew the purpose of our search?

  “And what is that purpose?” Tish demanded sharply.

  He looked up and down the street before he replied.

  “The code word is ‘mouse,’” he said, “and I am here to help if possi
ble. So far I gather that you have been unfortunate, but I hope you will not abandon the project.”

  Why should we have suspected him? He stood there, tall and smiling, and said that the night was still young and mice were not really active until the entire city slept. Even church mice, he added, because they have nothing really to get up for.

  I must say that none of us was at all eager to go on. Aggie indeed was insistent on going home, and even our dear Tish was uncertain. He looked much disappointed, and drew a long breath.

  “It would be a pity,” he said, “with everything depending on you. I hate to be a quitter. Also I have given my word to—to one of the girls at the office, and I hate to let her down. Not that she cares what I do,” he added despondently, “but after all—”

  Tish is always interested in love affairs, and so she drew the story from him. He had, he said, been engaged to this young woman, but a small incident had separated them. He said also that he would always respect her, but that there was no use going home to bed because all he did was lie awake and think about her. What he really thought he would do if we abandoned the search would be to catch up in his drinking, because in that way he could forget her, and anyhow while engaged to her he had been on the wagon.

  Nor was the offer of coffee as a substitute for strong drink of any avail.

  “Coffee only keeps me awake,” he said dejectedly. “I lie awake and think about her eyes and her smile, and the way she acted when—well, never mind about that. I’ll show her. That’s all.”

  “Not on liquor,” said Tish firmly.

  But he did not listen. Instead, he prepared to leave us.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry you’ve quit on the thing. The boys and girls at the office will be sorry too. Well, that’s life. I was going to suggest the Zoo, but what’s the use? Good night.”

  It was obviously impossible to let him leave us in that frame of mind, and our dear Tish perceived this immediately. It was for this reason, and this reason alone, that she detained him.

  “What about the Zoo?” she inquired.

  “Nothing much. Lots of mice there, that’s all. Mouse heaven, that’s what it is. Now you take Babe, the elephant. She likes mice. Gentle as a kitten, Babe is. Let them play around her all night. But never mind about that. I’ll tell the folks you tried anyhow.”

  He was about to drive away when Tish called to him, and I recognized her old militant voice once more.

  “If you will take us to our car at Caspari’s,” she said, “we will follow you to the Zoo.”

  It will be seen from this how simple—indeed inevitable—was the series of events which led to the final one. Who among us could have guessed at Mr. Jones’s duplicity? Or, to give him his due, could have known that in the hour of our need he would be helpless? Would indeed suffer actual physical indignity and such a black eye as I have seldom seen?

  Or who would have suspected that, in spite of the search, our poor Aggie was still harboring the mouse, and that very probably within one of the pads which—being flat of chest—she wears inside her dress?

  My reply to all of that is—nobody.

  IV

  THE ZOO WAS CLOSE at hand, and for two or three blocks we followed Mr. Jones’s car without difficulty. Tish was driving with Aggie beside her, while in the rear I was in charge of the butterfly net, mousetrap, cheese, and flashlight. No one was more amazed than I, therefore, when suddenly Aggie gave a most terrific shriek and rose up in her seat.

  “It’s movig,” she said. “I felt it.”

  “Of course, it’s moving,” said Tish calmly. “What’s a car for? Sit down and don’t be an idiot.”

  Aggie merely screamed again and tried to leap out of the car; in the attempt to hold her we narrowly missed a police officer and struck a fire plug. Almost immediately we were in the center of a water spout, and the policeman was picking himself up from the pavement and coming toward us with a most terrible look on his face.

  It was Officer O’Brien!

  It was a dreadful moment, for he had recognized us at once and was splashing toward us while using the most shocking language. As it was obvious that he intended to arrest us, and as he was even threatening bodily attack, I am quite certain that Tish took the only course possible.

  She reached back for the butterfly net and as he caught at the door brought it down firmly over his head.

  There was no other violence, in spite of his statement later as to a broken nose. Nor was he justified in shooting at our tires as we drove off. As to the dog, none of us saw one at the fire plug, and certainly it was not injured.

  Mr. Jones, some distance ahead, had known nothing of this incident, and as we were moving rapidly it was not until we had almost reached the Zoo that Tish stopped the car and confronted Aggie.

  “Now,” she said. “What was moving?”

  “The bouse,” said Aggie feebly.

  “What mouse? Don’t be absurd. You have no mouse.”

  “It was id by bosob,” said Aggie and burst into tears.

  However, as it now appeared to be gone, or at least quiescent, Tish drove on again.

  We were still very wet when we reached the park which houses the Zoo, and Mr. Jones looked slightly surprised when we found him. When we explained he simply nodded.

  “I see,” he said. “Only a fire hydrant. I thought maybe you’d broken open the reservoir. And you put the butterfly net on a policeman? Well, I’ve always wanted to see a butterfly net on a policeman, but again—well, that’s life, isn’t it?”

  He remained thoughtful for a moment or so, merely observing that he was glad we had not started out to catch a hippopotamus. Then he explained his plan to us.

  “I can get in myself,” he said. “I used to write stories of the place at night. In the days,” he added bitterly, “when I thought I could write. But you ladies will have to get in by stealth, so to speak. And if you see a watchman,” he went on, “it will not be necessary to kill him. He may have a family. Just lie low and let him pass.”

  I must say that it seemed simple enough. He was to gain admittance on a card or something he had, while we were to climb the fence into the enclosure where Babe took the air on pleasant days, and there unbolt the sliding door from the outside. Then when the chance came he would get into her pen or cage or whatever it is and so admit us. Aggie looked rather pale at this, but he again observed that Babe was the pet of the Zoo; if she stuck out her trunk, we had only to pet it gently and pass on.

  It did seem queer to us that he then produced a camera from his car, but he explained it quite easily.

  “Our photographer is sick,” he said, “and they have a new elephant here somewhere. He asked me to get a flashlight picture for him if I could.”

  He showed us where to go and then disappeared, but I must confess that any enthusiasm I may have felt as to a mouse for Charlie Sands had entirely vanished. Even Tish, usually so high-spirited, was silent, and Aggie was actually trembling.

  “I wish I’d brought sobe peaduts,” she said to me in a low voice. “I’d feel safer.”

  Encumbered as we still were with the trap, the flashlight, the cheese, the fence proved rather difficult. Luckily for us, the heavy steel posts were reinforced with a metal netting, and with this as a foothold we finally managed it. Nevertheless, as the minutes went on and a cold wind arose, our dampened condition made us most uncomfortable. Reference to Tish’s watch showed us that the hour by then was 3:00 A.M., but the Zoo was not entirely quiet. Every now and then some creature or other gave a piercing scream, and something else either barked or howled. Nor were matters improved by the passage at that time of a night watchman. At Tish’s whispered suggestion we lay down on the cement, and he did not see us. Nevertheless, we were greatly relieved when at last we heard a low voice beyond the door.

  “Quiet, Babe,” it said. “It’s all right. It’s only me.”

  It was Mr. Jones, and immediately after he slid open the door a bit and squeezed through. It seemed to me th
at he came through rather rapidly, and that a dull thud shook the door as he left it; but in a moment he was his usual nonchalant self, although somewhat breathless.

  “I wakened her rather suddenly,” he explained. “Better give her a minute or two to recover. I’m like that myself,” he said, smiling. “Rouse me too quickly and I—well, I don’t like it.”

  He added that he had seen several mice in the cage—which actually was a large room and not a cage at all—and that all we had to do was to enter quietly and let Babe get used to us by standing still for a brief time. After that, he said, we could all go about our business, as she was chained by one foot and would probably go back to sleep again anyhow.

  With that he shoved the door back a foot or two, and we squeezed inside, Tish as usual leading the way, and Mr. Jones closing the door behind us.

  The cage was dim, the only light being through the bars from somewhere beyond, but even at that it seemed to me that Babe had grown somewhat since last I saw her. I had little time for these observations, however, as at that moment she whipped out her trunk and jerked my hat from my head. Mr. Jones looked rather surprised and somewhat apologetic.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” he said. “She’s a playful old girl. Like a kitten, aren’t you, Babe? Come on now. Be a sport. Give it up, Babe.”

  But Babe had put her foot on it and was already tearing it to pieces; when he tried to stoop and recover it, she gave a squeal and made a pass at him with her trunk. I must say he looked uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know, ladies,” he said in a worried voice. “She doesn’t seem to be in the mood, does she? If you’d care to try somewhere else—”

  “Id the liod’s cage, I suppose,” said Aggie coldly.

  Tish refused to go elsewhere. Whether Babe was in the mood or not, there were certainly mice there, and lacking now the net, she was busily baiting the trap with the cheese and placing it in a corner. In the end Mr. Jones left us there, going to get his camera, which he had hidden somewhere, as they had a new keeper who didn’t like the animals disturbed at night.