sufferance; and though he is the dearest and best-conducted cat in the world, he is now on a sort of parole, and is not allowed into this room.” 

 As she was speaking a faint rattling of the door handle was heard. Instantly Miss Trelawny’s face brightened. She sprang up and went over to the door, saying as she went: 

 “There he is! That is my Silvio. He stands on his hind legs and rattles the door handle when he wants to come into a room.”  She opened the door, speaking to the cat as though he were a baby:  “Did him want his movver? Come then; but he must stay with her!”  She lifted the cat, and came back with him in her arms. He was certainly a magnificent animal. A chinchilla grey Persian with long silky hair; a really lordly animal with a haughty bearing despite his gentleness; and with great paws which spread out as he placed them on the ground. Whilst she was fondling him, he suddenly gave a wriggle like an eel and slipped out of her arms. He ran across the room and stood opposite a low table on which stood the mummy of an animal, and began to mew and snarl. Miss Trelawny was after him in an instant and lifted him in her arms, kicking and struggling and wriggling to get away; but not biting or scratching, for evidently he loved his beautiful mistress. He ceased to make a noise the moment he was in her arms; in a whisper she admonished him: 

 “O you naughty Silvio! You have broken your parole that mother gave for you. Now, say goodnight to the gentlemen, and come away to mother’s room!”  As she was speaking she held out the cat’s paw to me to shake. As I did so I could not but admire its size and beauty. “Why,” said I, “his paw seems like a little boxing-glove full of claws.”  She smiled: 

 “So it ought to. Don’t you notice that my Silvio has seven toes, see!” she opened the paw; and surely enough there were seven separate claws, each of them sheathed in a delicate, fine, shell-like case. As I gently stroked the foot the claws emerged and one of them accidentally—there was no anger now and the cat was purring—stuck into my hand. Instinctively I said as I drew back: 

 “Why, his claws are like razors!” 

 Doctor Winchester had come close to us and was bending over looking at the cat’s claws; as I spoke he said in a quick, sharp way: 

 “Eh!”  I could hear the quick intake of his breath. Whilst I was stroking the now quiescent cat, the Doctor went to the table and tore off a piece of blotting-paper from 

 Prev. P 21/194 next