Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

It was no idle choice, Dickens being a writer he admired greatly. It was no treasure trove either; the volumes were inexpensive editions. He took time, however, to look up his favorite passages: the opening paragraph of A Tale of Two Cities; the description of the coachman's coat in The Pickwick Papers; and a scene from A Christmas Carol that he knew virtually by heart. Every Christmas Eve, he remembered, his mother had read aloud the account of the Cratchits' modest Christmas dinner, beginning with that mouth-filling line: "Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice- turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence." A wave of nostalgia tingled his spine. The room was quiet except for an occasional murmur or grunt from Koko as he explored his private mountain, and Qwilleran read greedily from The Pickwick Papers until alerted by the unmistakable sound of claws on corrugated cardboard. The thinking man's cat was diligently scratching a box on the fifth tier, labeled "Macaulay A-106." Qwilleran immediately pulled it down, slit the flaps, and found the famous three-volume History of England, plus essays, biographies, and the questionably titled collection of poems, Lays of Ancient Rome. He huffed into his moustache as he realized that the Macaulay box had originally contained a shipment of canned salmon. Koko was no fool.

Nevertheless, Qwilleran had always wanted to check out a statement made by a typesetter of the old school - a claim that Macaulay used more consonants in his writing, while Dickens used more vowels. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with a pad of paper, he started counting consonants and vowels, selecting random excerpts from each author. It was a brain-numbing, eye-torturing task, and he was disappointed with the result. While racking up 390 consonants, Dickens used 250 vowels and Macaulay actually used more - a total of 258. The typesetter was either misinformed or a practical joker, but there was nothing he could do about it; the man had died two years before.

There was a tap on the door, and Susan called out to him, "Coffee's ready downstairs."

Qwilleran confined Koko to the room with the Dickens and Macaulay and joined her in the kitchen.

"Making good progress?" she inquired.

"I haven't found anything of value as yet," he replied, truthfully. "I've found a green dragon dish documented as fourteenth century!"

He wondered: Yes, but are the documents forged?

"I have a feeling," she said, "that a lot of these things; should go to New York for auction. They'll bring a fortune on the east coast."

If they're genuine, Qwilleran thought.

After coffee he returned upstairs, and as he opened the door Koko shot out of the room and made a skidding U-turn into the study where the books were on shelves instead of in boxes. Qwilleran followed, but the cat was already on one of the top shelves, looking down impudently at his pursuer.

"Get down here!" Qwilleran demanded at his sternest. Koko rubbed his jaw against a large volume-teasing, knowing he was just beyond reach.

Qwilleran climbed on a chair and made a grab for him. With infuriating impertinence Koko slinked behind a row of books with only the tip of his brown tail giving a clue to his whereabouts.

"I'll get you, young man, if I have to strip this whole bookcase!" Shifting the chair a few feet, he started removing books from the top shelf, piling them in his left arm, until the cat was revealed, crouched mischievously in his hiding place.

"You devil!" Qwilleran clutched him with his free hand, stepped off the chair, dumped his armful of gooks on the desk, and deposited the cat in the other room, slamming the door as a rebuke. Then he returned to the study to replace the dislodged books, which appeared to be a collection of eighteenth-century "erotica. Squelching his curiosity he lined the books up on the high shelf. That was when he noticed a volume that had been concealed behind the others, either purposely or accidentally. Memoirs of a Merry Milkmaid was the title tooled in gold on good cowhide. He put it under his arm and stepped off the chair. As he did so, the book rattled in a muffled way. He shook it, and it rattled again. Enjoying the excitement of discovery he returned to the Dickens-Macaulay room, closed the door, and opened the book. It was all cover and no pages!

There in the hollow volume - a secret filing place - was a small notebook, alphabetized. He turned to the letter D and found "Dickens A-74." Under M there was listed "Macaulay A-l06" as well as Mencken, Melodrama, Milton, Morality Plays and others. This was the catalogue he knew must exist. Though inadequate for finding titles, it was apparently useful for VanBrook's purposes, whatever they might be. If he had anything to hide, this was not a bad system.