Softly she opened the [door] nearest to her bedroom, and felt for an electric switch on the wall of the room within. As she did so, something sprang out of the darkness and ran across her feet. The girl, whose nerves were altogether on edge, couldn't keep back a scream. In an instant she was ashamed of her cowardice, when in the shadows of the dim gallery she saw a huge black Persian cat race for the stairway. Then followed the quick slap of a heavy door thrown violently back against a wall, and Andrew's voice called to her.

"Is that you, Yvonne? For heaven's sake, what's wrong?"

The girl leaned over the railing to answer him, but before she had time to speak Andrew himself cried out, in rage not fear. Looking down she saw him in the hall with Madame Deland behind him, Just outside the open door of the Chinese Chippendale room. Andrew, instead of looking up in search of his niece stared at the cat, which fled down the stairs, graceful as a long black plume. From where the girl stood she could plainly see Andrew's face, and the sudden, terrifying change in it. The flush and the frown so altered his features that Yvonne hardly recognised her charming uncle.

"That damned brute again!" he yelled, and turned on Madame Deland. "You told me you'd sent it away."

"It was out of your way," the woman flung back, snatching up the cat, which leaped to her for protection. "I had him safely shut up. Miss Marlow must have let him escape." She flashed a resentful glance at the petrified girl.

"You had no business to keep him in the house," replied Andrew. "You know how I hate cats. I'm marked with the hatred. My father turned faint if one came near him."

"Your mother didn't, if all storied are true," sneered Madame Deland "She wasn't afraid of cats or anything else on earth."

"I'm not afraid of cats or anything else, as you know very well!" Andrew threw the words at her. "I've proved whether or not I'm a coward. I have a right to hate any animal, and I do hate cats. But I’ll show you that I'm not afraid of this beast of yours. Give him to me."

He reached for the cat. but Madame Deland held it tightly against her breast, where from her black velvet and its own black fur its eyes shone like two big topazes.

"Don't dare to touch him." she said in a low, terrible voice. I know what thing you would do If you got him. And you know what I would do if you did it. Fifty-fifty it is. Andrew, between us. And you had better ask your niece why she opened that door. A nice impression you must be making upon the young lady!"

If looks could kill the man and woman would have fallen dead, slain by each other's eyes. But Madame Deland had won. Andrew let his hands drop at his sides, the fingers still curved as if eager to close round the animal's throat. Shrugging her beautiful shoulders, the woman wheeled, walked back into the Chinese room with the cat in her arms, but did not shut the door. Should she choose to listen, she could hear any words the uncle and niece might exchange.

"Forgive the scene, my child." Andrew apologised. "Cats are my complex. I lose my head at sight of one. Madame Deland likes the creatures. She brought this Persian from a cat show at the Crystal Palace some months ago, when she went to London. Then she hid it from me till it got loose one day, and I was tempted to throw it into the moat. But she begged its life. I owe her a great deal, really–and I believed she'd given It to Svensen to get rid of. I regret horribly that this has happened, and on your first night here, too! Honestly, I'm not responsible for my actions when a cat comes near me. Will you forget the whole business, please, Yvonne?"

"Of course," the girl answered, leaning heavily on the balcony rail, because she trembled from head to foot, and her knees felt weak. "I'm sorry that accidentally I let the cat out of the room."

"And its existence out of the bag!" Andrew laughed. "But how did It happen, my dear? Did you open the wrong door by mistake? Were you looking for your own?"

[Yvonne explains she was looking for a telephone, but not that she wanted to escape from her uncle.] "I hadn't had time even to switch on the light in the room when the cat sprang out of the dark, and I screamed."

WHERE IS TOGO? BY GODFREY ARCHARD Illustrated Leicester Chronicle, 11th March 1939

Mr Warren stood in the doorway and regarded the two-seater before him with a disapproving eye.
“Are you taking that rattletrap into Southminster?” he asked. “If so, you might be useful for once and do some shopping.”
Ronald Hill winced. He was fond of his uncle, but on this visit things had been more trying than usual. Besides, he had been caught that way before.
“I may not go into Southminster at all,” he said hastily, “I may just run around the countryside.”
“You can buy me,” went on Mr. Warren as if he had not spoken, “two pound best middle cut of salmon, a tin of blacking, change my book at the library, and get a fourteen-pound bag of Excelsior Cat Diet. You’d better make a list.”
Ronald gave up the struggle. “I’ll remember them all,” he said resignedly.
“Don’t forget the Excelsior Cat Diet!” persisted Mr. Warren. “Buy it at Smith’s; and if that old fool, Miss Gibson, is in the shop, don’t let her hear you ask for it. It’s the best food for cats, and I don’t want her to know.”
“I’ll wait till the shop is absolutely empty,” promised Ronald.

He got into his car, turned right out of the drive, passed that old fool, Miss Gibson’s, house on his left, and went straight on down the road towards Southminster. Which from Ronald’s point of view, was a grave error. He had intended to spend his afternoon looking for the Girl in the Blue Mackintosh. He had seen her yesterday when he was driving through the village. She was a girl who knocked all the accepted standards of beauty in Littleford sideways, and if only he had not been let out for the shopping he might have found out more about her.

“Confound Excelsior Cat Diet!” said Ronald. He swung round the corner and, seeing the Vicar on the footpath, slammed on his brakes. Not that he and the Vicar had anything particular to say to each other, but he had noticed that the latter was talking to the Girl in the Blue Mackintosh. The girl was obviously waiting for bus to Southminster; the chance was too good to be missed.

“Good afternoon, Vicar,” said Ronald, raising his hat.
The vicar turned round. An absent-minded man, he realised that here was somebody he knew, though he could not for the life of him remember why he was visiting Littleford.
“Good afternoon,” he answered. He remembered his social duties. “Miss Hunter, may I introduce Mr. Ronald Hill? This is Miss Joyce Hunter.”
“I’m just running into Southminster,” said Ronald, getting down to the noble point of the matter; and the Vicar, who, though absent-minded, could take a hint, beamed upon them both.
“Miss Hunter, would it not be more convenient if Mr. Hill were to give you a lift instead of your waiting for a bus?”
“I’m an absolutely safe driver,” replied Ronald.
“It’s very kind of you, and I’d like a lift very much,” she told him.
“I’m glad I met you Vicar,” said Ronald, and the next moment the Girl in the Blue Mackintosh was sitting beside him, and they were proceeding towards Southminster in the same car. Or, as Ronald told himself exultantly, she was not the Girl in the Blue Mackintosh any longer. She was Joyce Hunter. He had a perfectly good introduction, and the opportunity was not one to be wasted.
“Topping day, isn’t it?” he ventured.

He sought for a more promising topic. It was no use mentioning his uncle, for Mr. Warren was always quarrelling, and had probably quarrelled at some time or another with Joyce's people.

“Have you got a lot to do in Southminster?”
“Only some shopping,” answered Joyce. “I shall go round and do it, and then catch the four o'clock bus back.”
“Why not meet me for a cup of tea and let me drive you home instead?” suggested Ronald, and as they had reached Southminster he drew up in the market-place and waited anxiously for an answer. “The Vicar can give me a first-class character if you care to ask him.”

Joyce smiled, and he knew that he had won, “I’ll take it on trust,” she said.
Shall we meet at four o'clock?”
“I’ll be waiting on the doorstep of the New Cafe,” promised Ronald, and he went off to collect the boot polish, the two pounds of salmon, to change the book at the library, and, above all, not to forget the Excclsior Cat Diet.

Exactly an hour later he was leading Joyce to a table by the orchestra. The New Cafe, as its name implies, is Southminster’s latest meeting-place; and, looking: round it, Ronald decided that it fitted in with his present mood. Joyce sitting opposite to him put the finishing touch to the whole picture. He noticed a cat on the hearthrug and hastily averted his eyes. It struck a discordant note.

“If only that tabby would go away I should be perfectly happy,” he said.
“Do you dislike cats, too?” asked Joyce.
“I absolutely hate them,” answered Ronald forcibly, and, in his excitement at realising that here was a twin soul, he forgot that he had decided not to mention his uncle. Here, he felt, was a person who could really sympathise with his situation. “I'm staying with my uncle, Mr. Warren,” he explained simply.

Joyce caught her breath, “Mr. Warren?” she echoed. “You ought to have told me that sooner. Didn't you know that I'm Miss Gibson's companion?”
“I - I hadn't an idea?” cried Ronald; and in order to bring out the full gravity of the situation it will be necessary, to give a short explanation of why Miss Gibson and Mr. Warren were deadly rivals. And, incidentally, of why both Joyce and Ronald shuddered at the sight of a cat.

Mr. Warren and Miss Gibson both bred Persians. They took no interest in the sort of cat that monopolises the best armchair and deposits dead mice in the spare bedroom; they felt no stirrings of emotion when confronted with the cat that is deserving, honest, and of humble parentage; but when it came to long-haired aristocrats who needed as much looking after as the permanent wave of a film actress, they were very enthusiastic. They thought of nothing else.

The fourteen-pound bag of Excelsior Cat Diet was part of a deeply-laid plot for putting Mr. Warren's prize Persian, Marmaduke, in front of Mise Gibson's prize Persian, Togo, when it came to catching the judge's eye; and when it is added that both cats had the same number of firsts and that a needle match was to be provided by the County Cat Show tomorrow, it will be realised at once that things were pretty serious

“Miss Gibson told me that anyone who had anything to do with Mr. Warren was absolutely awful,” said Joyce thoughtfully.
“And Uncle George says that all Miss Gibson's friends are cackling idiots,” retorted Ronald.
A thought struck him and he grinned. “What on earth would they say if they could see us talking together now?”
Joyce turned pale. “They mustn’t know," she answered, and Ronald suddenly realised that this was no time for idle chatter. I

f they were seen together it would almost certainly mean that Joyce would lose her job. Miss Gibson would be very unlikely to keep a companion who was friendly with Mr. Warren's nephew, and even if she did she would be certain to take precautions to see that they did not meet again. It struck Ronald that anyone in the cafe might be a friend of Miss Gibson who would inform her of their meeting, and he had an attack of nerves.
“Hadn't we better be getting back?” he said anxiously.
Joyce collected her parcels. “I think we had," she answered. Ronald paid the bill and they went out of the café.

Five minutes later Ronald had placed Joyce’s purchases beside the salmon, the boot polish, and the Excelsior Cat Diet in the dickey of his car, and they were on their way home. And very different it was, he reflected gloomily, from their journey out. After this they would probably have difficulty in meeting, and the thought made him even less cheerful than before. He slowed down in an attempt to put off the moment of parting.

“Can’t we drive round for a bit and talk things over?’’ he suggested.
Joyce shook her head. “I’ve got to take Togo for his exercise at half-past five. I simply daren’t risk it.”
It was no use arguing.
“I knew those cats would interfere somehow,” said Ronald bitterly. He put on speed again, and, passing the entrance to Miss Gibson's drive, pulled up round the bend of the road. ”We shall both be at the County Cat Show to-morrow, and Uncle George and Miss Gibson will be sitting by their entries to see there’s no dirty work. Couldn't we slip out together for half an hour?”
Joyce considered. “I’ll manage it if I possibly can,” she promised.
“I’ll carry your parcels back as far as is safe, and then say good-bye,” said Ronald more cheerfully. “I believe there's something to be said for cat shows after all.”

He opened the dickey, sorted out Joyce's parcels from the Cat Diet, the salmon, and the boot polish, and walked cautiously with her along the road. It was unfortunate that he could not take her all the way. In a properly constituted society, Ronald felt, he ought to be able to see Miss Gibson and explain matters to her, with the result that she would make friends with Mr. Warren and all would be well. As it was, it would only mean that Joyce would be dismissed from her post. He halted reluctantly at last and handed over the parcels.

“I'll see you to-morrow, then,” he said.
“At the County Cat Show,” agreed Joyce. She looked round and moved away. “There’s Miss Gibson coming down the road.”
“Miss Gibson is a nuisance,” remarked Ronald. He watched Joyce’s rapidly disappearing figure and took a deep breath. “Uncle George is a nuisance. Togo and Marmaduke are nuisances.”

Miss Gibson did not seem to be welcoming her companion with any great friendliness. She appeared, indeed, to be unloading a grievance or so, and it dawned upon Ronald that it was time to move. He walked back to his car, slammed down the lid of the dickey and drove off home.

He met his uncle just as he reached the porch.
“You've been a long time," said Mr. Warren.
“I've had a lot to do,” retorted Ronald. He hurried on so as not to leave any time for questions. “Salmon and Cat Diet need more choosing than you think.”
"You ought to have been quicker, all the same," persisted Mr. Warren, “You - .”
He stopped suddenly, and a look came over his face that his nephew had never seen there before.
“What's the matter?’ asked Ronald nervously.
Mr. Warren was gazing past him, his eyes bulging in the grip of some strong emotion. “L – look!" he gasped faintly.
Ronald spun round.

For the first time in twenty years Miss Gibson was paying her rival a call. She came up the drive with Joyce; and Ronald realised that this was a special occasion. It would live in the history of Littleford for ever. It flashed through his mind that perhaps Joyce had persuaded her employer to ask Mr. Warren to let bygones be bygones, but another look at the couple made him realise that this was too much to hope. This was evidently a raid into enemy territory.

“May I ask to what I owe the honour of this visit?” inquired Uncle George heavily.
“You know perfectly well,” snapped Miss Gibson. “If you return Togo at once and make me an apology, I will say no more about the matter!”
There was a moment's silence.
“Togo?" echoed Mr. Warren at last. “You mean your cat? I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Togo is lost. He was seen coming this way, and I believe you have got him,” explained Miss Gibson. “You want to keep him hidden till after to-morrow so that your cat can win the prize!”

Mr. Warren leaned against Ronald's car. Togo's disappearance was not going to worry him. It left the way open, very conveniently, for his own candidate. But to accuse him of kidnapping the cat was another matter.
He waved his hand. “You are at liberty to search,” he said. “Would you care to try the house first, or would you prefer the garden?"

Miss Gibson paused. She realised that the size of Mr. Warren's grounds made the suggestion a little less easy than it seemed, and Joyce took the opportunity to try to ease the situation.
“I'm sure neither Mr. Warren nor Mr. Hill would hide Togo,” she protested. “I expect he’s somewhere in the garden at home.”

Miss Gibson snorted. It appeared to her that there was something here which called for explanation.
“How do you know that this young man's name is Hill?" she inquired.
Ronald hastened to change the subject.
“We've got enough cats here already," he said. “I even went out in the car this afternoon to get some food for Marmaduke, and - "
He had made matters worse. He had drawn attention to the car in question, and Miss Gibson moved forward.
“So this has been planned!"’ she said. “I demand to know where Togo is!”
She swung round to Joyce. “Miss Hunter, you are in this plot as well. What is your handbag doing in that car?"

Mr. Warren for once saw eye to eye with his neighbour. The handbag shook him badly. Joyce and his nephew had been in communication with each other and he must get to the bottom of the matter.
“What were you and Miss Hunter doing together at all?" he asked fiercely.
“I - I must have picked it up by mistake!” said Ronald. He saw Joyce opening her lips and hastened to take the blame himself. “I took Miss Hunter into Southminster, but she didn't know who I was. We haven't anything to do with Togo's disappearance.”
“Miss Hunter and I will talk that over later,” declared Miss Gibson ominously. She advanced quickly and flung open the dickey seat. “I believe you have planned this together, and that poor Togo is in the back of your car!”

An admirer of conjuring tricks, Ronald had to admit afterwards that this was the best he had ever seen. Mr. Warren leaped forward to hide the bag of Excelsior Cat Diet.
“Don't look in there!” he called sharply.
“Mrrrow!'' came a voice from inside the dickey. Something leaped out like a whirlwind, landed two scratches on Mr. Warren's wrist, and jumped to the ground.

A cat with long hair. A cat which, when properly groomed and not suffering from the effects of imprisonment in a small dickey, would move a connoisseur to enthusiastic comment. A cat which Ronald had no difficulty in identifying as the missing Togo.
“So you and Miss Hunter did steal my cat! said Miss Gibson triumphantly.
Mr. Warren fought for air. “This - this is an outrage!" he panted. He turned to Ronald. “What's the trick, eh? Can't you even do a little shopping without meeting a girl and making a fool of yourself?”
“We don't know anything about it. Togo must have got in there himself!” cried Joyce, and Ronald thought more rapidly than he had ever done in his life.

There was no doubt at all that things looked black. The dickey seat had certainly been left open for a few minutes, while he carried Joyce's parcels down the road, and if he had not known that no self-respecting cat would touch the stuff unless forcibly fed, he would have said that Togo had gone after the Excelsior Cat Diet.

“The middle cut of salmon!" cried Ronald suddenly.
Mr. Warren jumped at the suggestion. “So the brute’s been stealing food, has he?"' he inquired.

Mr. Warren's prize Persian, Marmaduke, came round the corner. Togo was not in the best of tempers. “Come on!’ yelled Togo, and the next moment the two cats were locked in combat in the middle of the drive.

Attempting to separate Togo and Marmaduke at the moment was about as safe as stealing cubs from a couple of angry tigresses. His own idea had been to let them fight until somebody scored a knock-out; but if Joyce were going to risk it, he must get there first.

“You must not get scratched. Wait! “ gasped Ronald, reaching into the dickey of his car. He snatched up the bag of Excelsior Cat Diet, whirled it round his head, and threw it with all his force into the centre of the trouble.

The bag exploded with a roar. A cloud of purly-grey powder rose into the air, and Togo and Marmaduke separated as if they had been shot. battle was over, and Miss Gibson and Mr. Warren prepared to assess the damages.

Miss Gibson examined her nominee carefully. “Look at Togo’s coat!” she cried. “How can I show him to-morrow after this - I shall claim damages for your cat’s assault on him.”
Mr. Warren spluttered. “Assault?” he echoed. “Your cat's a raving maniac; just look at Marmaduke's ear!’
There was no doubt at all that the Cat Show next day would be without two of its most distinguished entrants. Mr. Warren proceeded to rub in his point.
“Not only is Marmaduke absolutely ruined, but my nephew has had to waste a fourteen-pound bag of Excelsior Cat Diet in order to make your brute leave go."
“Did you say Excelsior Cat Diet?" asked Miss Gibson. She paused a moment. “You use it for Marmaduke?”
“Best stuff on the market,” said Mr. Warren shortly, “and I shall send you in a bill for it.”
There was a pause, and it seemed to Ronald as he clutched Marmaduke that a different: atmosphere was creeping over the meeting. Miss Gibson even allowed herself to smile.
“I never dreamed you used Excelsior,” she said at last. “You see, it’s my own invention! "
“There are one or two ideas on feeding that I'd like to discuss with you. How about scratching both cats tomorrow and showing them together next month?”
“It seems the best thing to do,” agreed Miss Gibson.
“May the best cat win,” remarked Mr. Warren.

The air of bonhomie was so pronounced that Joyce and Ronald let go of their charges and stood up.
“I'm afraid that in the heat of the moment I may have been a little unjust,” confessed Miss Gibson.
“After all, you can’t blame a cat for going after salmon,” acknowledged Mr. Warren.
“You must come and have dinner with me to mike up for it.”
“It is very kind indeed of you to ask us.”
“And perhaps your nephew will be kind enough to drive Miss Hunter into Southminster afterwards to get some liniment for Togo."
“He will be delighted.”

Ronald looked into Joyce's eyes, and as she smiled up at him he had difficulty in repressing an impulse to break into song. Things were going to be even better than he had thought,
“Do you mind taking me?" whispered Joyce.
“I'm going to take you all over the place during the next few days,” answered Ronald happily as the party moved off towards their dinner next door.

Behind them, Togo and Marmaduke had also signed an armistice. They had climbed into the dickey of the car together and were finishing off the salmon. Everybody wus happy.