William Brittain
Mr.  Strong  and  the  Cat  Lady

Mr. Leonard Strong, the gnomelike old science teacher at
Aldershot  High  School,  is  a  trained observer.  He  sees
everythingnot only what is there but what is not there. And
when the clue in this murder case proved to be something miss-
ing, Mr. Strong saw it as clearly as if the clue were not miss-
ing at all . . .
Detective: LEONARD STRANG

It was a Wednesday in late fall. The fifth period was almost
over, and Mr. Strang stood at the window of his classroom. The
crumbs of the sandwich that had been his lunch lay unnoticed on
his jacket lapels and rumpled necktie. He was speculating on how
many more days it would be before the maple trees in front of Al-
dershot High School would be completely bare of leaves when he
felt a tugging at the far reaches of his consciousness. Something
odd had happened. Or rather, something had not happened, and
that was equally odd. But it was several minutes before he re-
alized what it was.
Miss Pinderek had not passed the school on her daily walk to
the grocery store.
Until 17 years before, Agnes Pinderek had been a history
teacher at Aldershot High. Then, at the age of 72, she had retired,
with a minimum of fuss and fanfare, to her little cottage just
around the corner. Few of the present staff even knew Miss Pin-
derek existed. But Mr. Strang knew, remembering the advice and
encouragement she had showered on him long ago when he was
only a young teacher just out of normal school. Mr. Strang ran
gnarled fingers through his sparse crop of gray hair, realizing
that by now Agnes Pinderek must be almost 90.
And yet every day at 12:15, in spite of her age, Agnes Pinderek
walked by the school on her way to the grocery store three blocks
away. And every day at one o'clock she returned, head erect and
spine ramrod-straight, clutching a small paper bag as if daring
someone to try and take it from her. Rain, snow, sleet,, and hail
did not deter her. Through them all she marched at her appointed
times. In retirement she was the same as she had been in the
classroomproud, punctual, self-sufficient.
But on this day Miss Pinderek had not appeared.
Mr. Strang decided to pay her a visit as soon as school was
over. He knew this would not please her. While she sometimes re-
turned to school to see old friends, she was adamant about refus-
ing to allow visitors to her home. "I'm an old lady, Leonard," she
had told Mr. Strang on one occasion when he'd requested the
privilege of making a call. "I've worked hard for my privacy, and
now I intend to have it. Besides, I've spent so long in school that
you might not recognize me away from it. I'd love to chat with
you in your classroom after school, but my home is not open to
visitors."
And that had been that.
Still, Miss Pinderek might be ill. Perhaps too ill to summon
help. And he might not need to even enter the house. If he
shouted through the door at her and received an answer, that
would be enough to reassure him.
For the rest of the day Mr. Strang's classes came and went.
Chemistry, general science, biology. And through them all the old
teacher couldn't get Miss Pinderek out of his mind. Finally the
school day ended. Mr. Strang placed a sign on his door canceling
the meeting of the Science Club, took his keyring to the main
office, and left the building just as the last of the buses was pull-
ing out of the driveway.
Miss Pinderek's tiny front yard was overrun with ivy which not
only choked out the weeds but climbed the clapboard sides of the
house, partially obscuring the fact that the structure was badly in
need of paint.
Mr. Strang pressed the doorbell. He heard no chime or buzz
from inside the house. Finally he rapped loudly on the front door,
his knuckles avoiding the panes of glass, three of which were
cracked, while the fourth was missing, the opening blocked by a
piece of cardboard.
No answer. He knocked again. Then he rattled the doorknob.
The door creaked open a scant twelve inches and then struck
against something.
The teacher pushed his way through the opening. He found
himself standing between two towering piles of boxes, one of
which had kept the door from opening fully. Beyond the boxes
piles of ancient magazines and newspapers filled the entryway,
leaving only a narrow passage along which the teacher walked.
"Agnes! Agnes Pinderek!" he called. The piles of debris muffled
the sound of his voice. There was no answer except for a faint
rustling which told of mice scampering for safety. Finally he
reached the living room.
It was there he found the body of Agnes Pinderek.
Even as he absorbed the shock of finding the dead woman, Mr.
Strang's brain was considering what must have happened. She
had died painfully, horribly. The threadbare rug was pulled and
twisted where her body had thrashed about on the floor, and an
old brass lamp had been toppled, breaking its white glass bowl.
Several of the piles of books about the room had been dragged
down, and a copy of Charles Dickens' Bleak House was lying be-
neath the body. The old lady's long fingernails had pierced the
palms of her hands, silent testimony to the agony she had suf-
fered.
Someone had to be notified. Mr. Strang looked around for a
telephone and found none. He walked toward the rear of the
house, shivering uncontrollably. What kind of illness or injury
could have caused such suffering?
He found the box of rat poison on the shelf in the kitchen. It
was almost empty. In the sink were two white china cups and a
teaspoon, all washed clean.
Pale and queasy, Mr. Strang left the house and hurried to the
telephone booth on the corner in front of the school. From there
he called the Aldershot police and asked to speak to Detective
Sergeant Paul Roberts.
As if by magic a crowd collected in front of Miss Pinderek's
house shortly after the arrival of the first police car. A pair of
uniformed patrolmen, beefy and poker-faced, was stationed at the
front door, and others were keeping the onlookers behind hastily
erected barricades.  Official-looking men carrying brief cases,
cameras, and bags of investigative equipment moved back and
forth between the house and the line of cars parked at the curb.
Miss Pinderek's body, covered with a sheet, was brought out on a
stretcher to be taken to the morgue for examination.
Paul Roberts came out of the house and beckoned to the
teacher. Mr. Strang followed the bulky detective through the
crowd until they reached a car at the curb. As Mr. Strang opened
the door and got in on the passenger's side, he couldn't help
thinking how much Agnes Pinderek would have disapproved of all
this fuss being made over her. Proudly independent for nearly 90
years, she was receiving in death the attention she had spurned
while alive.
Roberts sprawled onto the seat beside him and braced a clip-
board against the steering wheel. "Do you have any idea who did
it?" asked the teacher.
"I dunno. She didn't seem to have any enemies, according to the
neighbors. She lived a pretty lonely existence, as far as we can
make out."
Mr. Strang removed his black-rimmed glasses and rubbed at his
eyes. "Paul," he said, "are you sure it's murder? After all,
AgnesMiss Pinderekwas an old lady. Couldn't she have just
died of natural causes?"
Roberts shook his head. "The police surgeon said it was poison.
Arsenicall the classic symptoms. Apparently she died sometime
yesterday afternoon."
"The rat poison?"
Roberts shifted the holstered pistol at his hip to a more com-
fortable position. "That's how we figure it," he said. "A couple of
spoonfuls of that stuff would contain enough arsenic to kill a
horse. We tried to lift prints from the box, but the cardboard was
so wrinkled and greasy we couldn't get anything worthwhile. The
cups and the spoon in the sink were clean too."
"Two cups," said Mr. Strang. "So there probably was a visitor.
But up to now Agnes has never allowed a visitor in her house.
Not even her best friends."
"Yeah," said Roberts musingly. "Well, she had one yesterday,
all right."
"Any idea who it could have been?"
"We've got a pretty good" Suddenly Roberts clamped his
mouth shut and looked at the teacher, shaking his head. "Always
want to play detective, don't you?" he grinned. "Suppose I ask
the questions and you give the answers."
"All right, Paul. Fire away."
"Okay. Since Miss Pinderek didn't allow visitors, how come you
picked today to come calling?"
The teacher told Roberts about Miss Pinderek's daily trips to
the grocery store.
"But today she didn't go, eh?"
Mr. Strang nodded. "For the first time I know of in years. I
came over thinking something might be wrong. But I never
suspected"
"Yeah." Roberts slapped the clipboard onto the seat next to him.
He turned the key in the ignition, and the starter whirred. "Let's
take a ride. It's not much of a lead, but I'd better follow it up."
"Follow what up, Paul?"
"The grocery store. That would be the supermarket on Ripley
Street. It's the only one in walking distance from here. I'd like to
know what Miss Pinderek usually bought there every day."
In the parking lot Mr. Strang waited in the car while Roberts
entered the supermarket. He was gone less than fifteen minutes.
Returning, he opened the door, sat down, and shrugged dejectedly.
"Cat food." He frowned into the rearview mirror. "Damn!"
"What's the matter?"
"The clerks remember her, all right," Roberts replied. "One or
two of the older ones used to have her for a teacher. Every day
she'd come into the store at about twelve-thirty. She'd pick up a
few vegetables, maybe, or a loaf of old bread on sale. But there's
one thing she bought every day. A can of Tabby-Yum catfood
tuna flavor."
"Well, that's innocent enough," said the teacher. "I doubt any-
one would murder Miss Pinderek just because she kept a cat."
"Okay. But tell me this. What happened to the cat?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"About thirty men have gone through Miss Pinderek's house
with a fine-tooth comb. There was no sign of any cat."
"Perhaps it ran away."
Roberts shook his head. "No way, Mr. Strang. I know cats.
We've got two of 'em at home. They tend to hang around wher-
ever they've been used to getting chow."
"Maybe it's at a neighbor's house."
Roberts rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Could be. But you'd
think we'd have found a food dish or a litter boxsomething to
show a cat lived there."
"Paul, are you saying the murderer took the cat?"
"That would explain why it's missing, at least. If the killer was
after the cat and if Miss Pinderek caught him"
"What then?" Mr. Strang shook his head. "I doubt she'd have
offered him a cup of coffee or tea."
"Yeah, that's true. But how's this? Miss Pinderek's visitor is let
in. She offers him somethingtea, probably. The visitor spikes
Miss Pinderek's tea with the rat poison. She drinks it. She dies.
Then the killer takes away the cat and all its equipment. How
does that grab you?"
"Frankly, Paul," said Mr. Strang, "it leaves me with a good
many questions unanswered. Why, for example, did Agnes allow
this one person in when she'd kept all visitors out for years? And
why did the killer choose a slow-acting poison like arsenic? And
why was the cat taken away at all?"
"This is a weird one, all right," said Roberts with a shake of his
head. "The whole thing's crazy. No motive. The killer steals a cat.
If we're dealing with a maniac, he's going to be devilishly hard to
locate."
"But you do have another lead, don't you, Paul?" Mr. Strang re-
garded the detective with an owlish stare.
"Like I said, that's police business," said Roberts, starting the
car. "You stick to school-teaching. C'mon, I'll take you home."
It was two days later, on Friday evening, that Roberts called on
Mr. Strang at the teacher's room in Mrs. Mackey's boardinghouse.
Mr. Strang offered the detective a chair, which was accepted, and
a brandy, which was refused.
"I gotta have your help on the Pinderek case," said the detec-
tive reluctantly.
"Why, I wouldn't think of meddling in police business," said Mr.
Strang, a smile playing across his lips. "I'm aschoolteacher, re-
member?"
"Okay, so I shot my mouth off," said Roberts. "But you've got to
help me on this one. Seems like everybody in Aldershot knew of
Miss Pinderek. They've been demanding action on her murder.
The chiefs been catching all kinds of flak, and he's dropped the
whole thing in my lap. I've got twenty-four hours to come up with
an answer."
"But how can I help?" Mr. Strang asked.
"Do you know a kid in the high school named Gary Ekiund?"
Mr. Strang stared intently at Roberts. "What's Gary got to do
with this?"
"I just want to talk to him, that's all. But if I drop around at his
house by myself, the whole family's going to start getting
exciteda detective questioning their son and all that. But I un-
derstand Gary's in one of your classes."
Mr. Strang nodded.
"Well, that's the answer then," said Roberts. "You come with
me. You're his teacher. He'll be more open with you."
Mr. Strang shook his head. "Gary lives with his mother, Paul.
The father's been dead less than a year. I'm not about to use my
position as Gary's teacher to make him say things he wouldn't
talk to a detective about. You'll have to do your own dirty work."
"Okay." Roberts stood up and jammed his hat onto his head. "I
thought it would be easier this way, that's all. I guess I'll just
have to pull the kid in for questioning."
He was almost to the door when Mr. Strang stopped him. "Paul,
wait. You must have some evidence against Gary. Tell me what it
is. If what you've got is legitimateif you're not just going on a
fishing expeditionI'll help you.- I'm afraid of how Gary's mother
would react to his being arrested."
Roberts moved back into the room and sat down again. "Evi-
dence," he said. "Yeah, we got evidence. Apparently Gary Ekiund
was the visitor Miss Pinderek had on the day she died."
From a coat pocket he took out a notebook. Opening it, he re-
moved a small piece of paper. "This," he said, "is a receipt form
for the school edition of the Morning Record newspaper. Accord-
ing to what we've found out, young Ekiund handles the delivery
of those papers in Aldershot High School. Is that right?"
"Yes. I take it myself. Seven cents a day, thirty-five cents per
week. A special school rate. Gary earns a few dollars by distribut-
ing the papers to the classroom."
"But he's not supposed to deliver anywhere except in school,"
said Roberts. "Correct?"
"Yes, but"
"Then how come this receipt was found in Miss Pinderek's
house? It was under the rug next to the body. It's dated the day of
the murderlast Tuesday. It's got Miss Pinderek's name on it,
Mr. Strang. It's made out for thirty-five cents. And the words
Cancel Subscription are written across the front of it. Last but not
least, Gary Ekiund's signature is at the bottom."
"Then Gary was in that house the day Agnes was murdered,"
said the teacher.
"That's right. And there's another thing. Have you taken a look
at Gary's left hand in the last couple of days?"
"No, I"
"According to -his friends, Mr. Strang, there are scratches across
the back of it. Scratches that look like they were made by a cat."
The teacher sat down limply. "But Gary's only a boy."
"I know that, Mr. Strang. That's why I want you to be the one
to ask him about the receipt and the scratches. Hell, maybe it was
an accident. I dunno. I'm not out to frame the kid. I just want to
find out what really happened in Miss Pinderek's house last
Tuesday."
"When do you want to see Gary, Paul?"
"Right away."
"I'll get my coat."
It was nearly eight o'clock when Roberts and Mr. Strang ar-
rived at the Ekiund house, a small shingled bungalow at the far
end of town. Mr. Strang rapped at the door, while Roberts hung
back in the shadows.
The door was opened by a frail woman with graying hair, wear-
ing a faded housedress. "Why, Mr. Strang," she smiled, swinging
the door wide. "What a pleasure to see you. Won't you come in?"
Mr. Strang entered the house, followed by Roberts. "We'd like
to talk to Gary for a few minutes, if you don't mind, Mrs. Ekiund.
This man is a detective with the Aldershot"
There was a sudden scurrying at the rear of the house and the
sound of a door opening and closing. Immediately Roberts
reopened the front door and raced out into the darkness.
For a moment there was only the slap of footsteps circling the
house. Then a scuffling sound, followed by a shrill yell. Finally
Roberts' loud voice echoed through the evening stillness.
"Get up, Gary, and come inside. I don't want to hurt you."
Roberts entered, almost carrying a youth wearing blue jeans, a
flannel shirt, and once-white sneakers.
"Gary! Mr. Strang!" gasped Mrs. Ekiund, her eyes wide and the
palms of her hands pressed against her face. "What's happening? I
don't understand."
"Sit down, Mrs. Ekiund," said the teacher softly. "There really
isn't any easy way to say this. You see, Detective Roberts believes
Gary knows something about Agnes Pinderek's death last Tues-
day."
"Butbut that's impossible, Mr. Strang. Gary wouldn't"
"Tell me something, Gary," said Roberts, staring down at the
boy. "Did you visit Miss Pinderek at any time last Tuesday?"
"I don't have to talk to you." Gary turned uncertainly to the
teacher. "Do I, Mr. Strang?"
After a glance at Roberts, Mr. Strang shook his head. He knelt
beside the boy's chair.
"Gary," he said softly, "I'm on your side. I don't think you did
anything wrong."
Slowly Gary raised his eyes toward his mother's worried face.
"But I did," he whimpered. "I did do something wrong."
There was a gasp from Mrs. Ekiund. But Mr. Strang went on as
if he hadn't heard. "What was it, Gary? What did you do that was
wrong?"
"It was on Tuesday. I sneaked out of school during my study
hall the last period. You see, Miss Pinderek asked me to come to
her house. And old Mrs. Lewis never takes attendance in study
hall anyway. So I thought nobody would know."
"Why did Miss Pinderek want to see you?" asked Mr. Strang.
Behind him, Gary's mother had gripped Roberts' sleeve, and her
thin body was trembling.
"She takes the paper, Mr. Strang. Oh, I know I'm only supposed
to deliver to people in school. But one day last year I saw her in
the hall and she said she'd like to take the paper if it was at all
possible. She seemed real nice, and it was no trouble at all to go
over there before homeroom, so I did it. I guess when they find
out about this, they'll take my job away."
"So you've been delivering the paper to Miss Pinderek every
day, is that it? That's the 'something wrong' you were talking
about? And she asked you to stop by on Tuesday so she could pay
you?"
"Yes, sir. She owed me for the week. It was then she said she
wanted to cancel the subscription. I made out a receipt just so I'd
have a carbon copy for the circulation manager."
"Did you go into the house, Gary?"
The boy nodded. "It was the first time she ever let me inside. It
was kind of spooky in there, but she made me a cup of tea. I don't
like tea, but she was so nice I drank it so I wouldn't hurt her feel-
ings."
"Did you see a box of rat poison?" asked the teacher.
Gary stared at him blankly. "I don't know anything about rat
poison, Mr. Strang. After we'd had our tea, Miss Pinderek paid
me, and I left."
"Is that all, Gary?"
"That's all. Honest. The next day I was leaving school when I
saw all the police cars by Miss Pinderek's house. When I got home
I heard on the radio that she'd beenbeen"
Roberts tapped Mr. Strang on the shoulder. "That story's all
fine and dandy," he said. "But he still hasn't said anything about
how the cat put those scratches on the back of his hand."
Gary considered his left hand as if seeing the scratches for the
first time. "What's he talking about?" he asked Mr. Strang.
"The cat," Roberts said. "What did you do with the cat?"
"Cat? What cat, Mr. Strang?"
"Gary," said the teacher, rising stiffly to his feet, "Mr. Roberts
wants to know how you got those scratches on your hand. Was it
Miss Pinderek's cat that did it?"
"It wasn't any cat," said Gary. "It was a girl. We were down at
the Malt Shop after school on Wednesday. In a booth. I was kind
ofyou know. Playing around a little. She got mad. So she dug
her fingernails into my hand. I pulled it away, and that's how I
got scratched."
"Holy Moses on a bicycle!" Paul Roberts shook his head in dis-
gust. "Where did you dream up that fairy tale? If a girl did that,
what's her name?"
Tight-lipped, Gary stared at the floor, shaking his head.
"I dunno," said Roberts. "There's no way to get a straight an-
swer out of the kid. And we haven't gotten a single bit of informa-
tion about the cat. Or the rat poison. Or"
The teacher sank into a chair, staring at the opposite wall. "Rat
poison," he murmured. "Rat poison. That's got to be it."
"Got to be what, Mr. Strang?" asked the detective.
The teacher rose and faced the little group before him. From a
jacket pocket he took his glasses and began polishing them on his
necktie. "Paul," he said, "it's pretty obvious that you think Gary
is lying."
"Sure he's lying. How do you explain his taking off as soon as
he found out I was a detective? And what about that business of
the girl? He won't give her name. Why? Because there wasn't any
girl. It was a cat, I tell you. Look, I'll grant I haven't figured out
his motive yet. But of all the crazy yarns"
"Paul, I want you to do something for me. It won't be easy for
you, but try your best."
"Sure, Mr. Strang. Anything to get to the bottom of this. What
is it?"
"I want you to assume for a short while that Gary is telling
the absolute truth, that he has left out nothing of importance."
Roberts stared at the teacher in amazement. "Oh, come on!" he
barked in an outraged tone.
"Now if Gary told the truth," Mr. Strang went on calmly, "then
he paid Miss Pinderek a visit but left her alive and well. A day
later, however, he finds out she's been murdered. As perhaps the
only visitor Miss Pinderek has had in years, he realizes he'll be
the Number One suspect. And then this evening a detective comes
to his home. Wouldn't that explain his sudden flight out the back
door? Gary tried to escape not because he was guilty but because
he was afraid you thought he was."
"Well, yeah, maybe. But what about that business of the girl
scratching him? That's a lot of"
Mr. Strang held up a warning finger. "We're assuming Gary's
telling the truth, remember? Paul, when you were young, did you
ever get fresh with a girl?"
The answer came grudgingly. "Yeah. Couple of times. One of
'em took a good sock at me."
"Would you have been willing to discuss those times with
adults if they'd asked you?"
"Not on your life. I mean"
"So much for Gary's silence concerning the girl," the teacher
went on. "Yes, Gary's afraid. He's afraid he'll lose his paper route
because he was doing an old lady a favor by making a delivery
outside of school. He's afraid he'll be disciplined for cutting school
during a study hall. He's afraid you suspect him of a murder he
never committed. But still, I'm convinced he's telling the truth.
He went to see Miss Pinderek on Tuesday afternoon. He collected
what was owed, gave her a receipt, then left. That's all."
"And what about the cat?" Roberts asked.
"Ah, yes, the elusive cat. I'm glad you brought that up, Paul,
because that's what convinced me Gary was not lying."
"Where is it, then?" the detective demanded.
"The cat, which you tho.ught made the scratches on Gary's
hand, and which the killer supposedly did away with, can't be
found for the simple reason that it never existed. The fleeing
feline is a figment of the imagination, Paul. A phantom."
"But there had to be a cat!" Roberts exclaimed.
"Why, Paul? Why?" Mr. Strang continued relentlessly. "There
was no sign of one. No bedding, no food dishnothing. And once
we eliminate the non-existent cat from our thinking, Agnes Pin-
derek's death is much easier to explain."
"Now, hang on, Mr. Strang." Roberts held up a hand like a stu-
dent during a class discussion, then furiously jerked it down
again. "We know Agnes Pinderek bought a can of Tabby-Yum
every day. So how can you say she never owned a cat?"
"Because of the rat poison. Paul, why would a woman who kept
a cata cat big and healthy enough to consume a can of cat food
every dayneed rat poison? And yet the box of poison was old
and stained, and nearly empty. Now, not even the most deter-
mined poisoner would need an entire box of rat poison. Clearly
the poison was there because Miss Pinderek was plagued with
rats. But whoever heard of rat poison being necessary in a home
where there's a healthy cat? Therefore, Miss Pinderek did not own
a cat."
There was a long silence. "Why, I1" Roberts stammered.
But Mr. Strang pressed on. "Furthermore, when I first entered
Miss Pinderek's house I distinctly heard mice playing among
those boxes. Surely mice wouldn't run about so freely if there was
a cat in the house."
"No cat," said Roberts slowly. "Okay, Gary seems to have been
telling the truth. But if Miss Pinderek was all right when he left
the house, what did happen? As far as we know, she had no other
visitors. Who could have killed her?"
"The only person possible. Agnes herself."
"Suicide?" Roberts whispered the word. "But why?"
"Paul, I knew Miss Pinderek for several years before her re-
tirement. She was. a fiercely independent woman. She told me
many times of her dread of one day being forced to accept char-
ity."
Mr. Strang removed a handkerchief from his pocket and blew
his nose loudly. "Seventeen years ago Agnes Pinderek retired.
She'd made a few investments and felt that with the income from
those plus what she got from the retirement fund, she'd be able to
get along.
"Now, whether the investments were bad or rising prices were
more than her fixed income could take, I don't know. But look at
her house. It's rundown in a way she'd never have allowed if she'd
had the money for its upkeep. I'd also imagine you'll find it's
mortgaged to the hilt. She took to saving everything and any-
thing that might one day be turned into cash. She bought stale
bread, and even got the newspaper at school rates toSave a few
cents a week.
"Paul, the woman was a pauper. But still she wished to main-
tain her independence. Therefore she allowed herself no visitors
who might see how badly off she was and take pity on her. Pity
was the one emotion she couldn't tolerate when it was directed at
her.
"And then one day she realized she could go on no longer. It
became impossible for her to support herself. Accept charity?
Nevernot Agnes Pinderek. But there was another way. A solu-
tion that a proud woman of ninety might have found quite ac-
ceptable. Certainly from her point of view much more honorable
than the indignity she would have suffered from accepting public
assistance.
"But first her affairs had to be put in order. And that involved
paying all her debtsincluding what she owed Gary. She invited
him inside. We can only speculate on why she did this after hav-
ing kept visitors away for so many years. But he was, after all,
the last human she'd ever see. And she remembered to cancel the
newspaper. At her death she would leave no loose ends behind.
"Once Gary had left the house, Agnes made a second cup of tea
in the same cup she'd first used and mixed in the arsenic. Being
tasteless, it was easily swallowed. Then she washed the cups and
spoon, not to conceal evidence, but simply from force of habit. The
cramps and stomach pains didn't come until later."
Mr. Strang rubbed one hand across his eyes, which were glis-
tening wetly.
"You've drawn a helluva lot of conclusions from a box of rat
poison and a missing cat," said Roberts. "How can you be so sure
that"
A tear ran down Mr. Strang's cheek.
"It really had to happen the way you said, didn't it?" Roberts
murmured softly. "I'll run a check on Miss Pinderek's finances to
make sure, butwell, how else could it have been?"
With one hand he rubbed at the back of his neck. "But I still
don't understand about the cat food."
"Tabby-Yum costs about one-third the price of a can of
tunafish," said Mr. Strang. "For the past few years it was about
the only thing keeping Miss Pinderek alive."