Enter Second Murderer by Alanna Knight Page B

home?"
    The Mad Bart scowled and cast an eye over his brood. "Depends."
    "My housekeeper is a great cat-lover, and we're smitten with a plague of mice—these new houses, you know."
    "Mice, is it? There hasn't been a mouse inside these walls for more years than I can remember."
    As he considered Faro in the manner of one about to sell a favourite daughter, the latter said hastily, "I would willingly pay you. I'm sorry if I've offended you by my question but we are at our wits' end, and as I often see your cats in the garden when I'm out walking, I thought ..."
    "I don't need payment," said the old man huffily. "Wouldn't consider it. Have plenty of kits to spare, never miss the odd one." He paused again and stared hard at Faro in the manner of one about to make a momentous decision. "Er, perhaps you'd care to step inside and look at 'em. Have some in the kitchen ready to leave their mother."
    This was better luck than Faro had hoped for as, leading the way, the old man apologised for the untidiness, which was not immediately evident. Apart from the offensive odour of cat en masse , the house was surprisingly clean and tidy for an old man living on his own and lacking servants.
    "Can I offer you some refreshment? A dram, perhaps? No?"
    Faro watched the old man pour out whisky from a decanter. Lighting his pipe was a lengthy operation, so it was some time before the conversation resumed.
    "Only use a couple of rooms these days, one for the cats, one for myself." Down the long stone corridor lay the kitchen, which smelt rather worse than the rest of the house, and Faro was careful not to breathe too deeply. However, the kittens were exceedingly pretty.
    "I don't know how to decide which one," said Faro in all honesty. "Perhaps my housekeeper would be better able—"
    "Women are no judges of a good mouser. Here, take this one. Comes of a good mouser strain. Take my word for it, you'll have no more trouble." As Faro put his hand in his pocket, the old man added sternly, "As a gift—I insist. I want no money. Can't keep 'em all. Have to be cruel to be kind sometimes," he added. "Drown a whole litter occasionally. Better that way than putting 'em out to run wild. Place would be overrun ..."
    Faro could see no valid reason for refusing the offer, and hoped he had not let himself in for Mrs. Brook's displeasure, seeing the mouse plague had been a pure piece of invention and he had not the least idea whether the housekeeper was a cat-lover or not. He was considering by what means he could extend the interview when the Mad Bart suddenly said, "I know you. You're that detective chap. You live across in the new houses."
    "That is correct," said Faro weakly. "How did you know?"
    "Girl who came to visit my cats, from the convent, told me who you were."
    "Girl?"
    "You know, one who was murdered—second one. Teacher. Heard about it. Grocer lad told me. Most unfortunate."
    "So you knew her?"
    The Mad Bart looked vague. "No more than I know you, sir. As I said, saw my cats. Took a notion to buying one. Mice in her room, too. Scared of 'em. Pleasant girl, kind too. Was suffering from one of my attacks of the ague at the time. Told me the nuns made a good concoction of herbs. Brought some. Papist muck, of course, but did the trick. Never saw her again." His accompanying sigh, a shake of the great shaggy head, more than any words gave a glimpse of the loneliness of his life. "No. Never saw her again," he repeated sadly. "Rotten business. Glad they got the fellow. Deserved to swing for it. Crime passionnel , was it?"
    "I don't think so," said Faro vaguely, anxious not to divert the stream of confidence.
    "Oh, thought he had led her on, let her down. Damn fool. Had I been younger, I'd have married her myself."
    Suddenly feeling that he was getting valuable information at last, Faro's senses were on the alert. Had the cats been Lily Goldie's excuse for an introduction to the Mad Bart? Had she perhaps had an eye on marrying this mad old man? The idea