The Cat Who Walks Through Walls Read Online Free

to change—change right in the middle of a hearing and retroactive, if the Manager so decides. Gwen, I don’t know. The Manager’s Proxy might decide that you are the Company’s star witness.”
    “I won’t do it! I won’t!”
    “Thank you, my love. But let’s find out what your testimony would be were you to be a witness in—what shall we call it? Eh, suppose that I am charged with having wrongfully caused the death of, uh, Mr. X… Mr. X being the stranger who came to our table last night when you excused yourself to visit the ladies’ lounge. What did you see?”
    “Richard, I saw you kill him. I saw it!”
    “A prosecutor would require more details. Did you see him come to our table?”
    “No. I didn’t see him until I left the lounge and was headed for our table…and was startled to see someone sitting in my chair.”
    “All right, back up a little and tell me exactly what you saw.”
    “Uh, I came out of the ladies’ room and turned left, toward our table. Your back was toward me, you’ll remember—”
    “Never mind what I remember; you tell what you remember. How far away were you?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Ten meters, maybe. I could go there and measure it. Does it matter?”
    “If it ever does, you can measure it. You saw me from about ten meters. What was I doing? Standing? Sitting? Moving?”
    “You were seated with your back to me.”
    “My back was toward you. The light wasn’t very good. How did you know it was I?”
    “Why—Richard, you’re being intentionally difficult.”
    “Yes, because prosecutors are intentionally difficult. How did you recognize me?”
    “Uh—It was you . Richard, I know the back of your neck just as I know your face. Anyhow, when you stood up and moved, I did see your face.”
    “Was that what I did next? Stand up?”
    “No, no. I spotted you, at our table—then I stopped short when I saw someone seated across from you, in my chair. I just stood there and stared.”
    “Did you recognize him?”
    “No. I don’t think I ever saw him before.”
    “Describe him.”
    “Uh, I can’t, very well.”
    “Short? Tall? Age? Bearded? Race? How dressed?”
    “I never saw him standing up. He wasn’t a youngster but he wasn’t an old man, either. I don’t think he wore a beard.”
    “Moustache?”
    “I don’t know.” (I did know. No moustache. Age about thirty.)
    “Race?”
    “White. Light skin, anyhow, but not blond like a Swede. Richard, there wasn’t time to catch all the details. He threatened you with some sort of weapon and you shot him and you jumped up as the waiter came over—and I backed up and waited until they took him away.”
    “Where did they take him?”
    “I’m not sure. I backed into the ladies’ lounge and let the door contract. They could have taken him into the gentlemen’s room just across the passage. But there’s another door at the end of the passage marked ‘Employees Only.’”
    “You say he threatened me with a weapon?”
    “Yes. Then you shot him and jumped up and grabbed his weapon and shoved it into your pocket, just as our waiter came up on the other side.”
    (Oho!) “Which pocket did I put it in?”
    “Let me think. I have to turn myself that way in my mind. Your left pocket. Your left outside jacket pocket.”
    “How was I dressed last night?”
    “Evening dress, we had come straight from the ballet. White turtleneck, maroon jacket, black trousers.”
    “Gwen, because you were asleep in the bedroom, I undressed last night here in the living room and hung the clothes I was wearing in that wardrobe by the outer door, intending to move them later. Will you please open that wardrobe, find the jacket I wore last night, and get from its left outside pocket the ‘weapon’ you saw me place in it?”
    “But—” She shut up and, solemn-faced, did as I asked.
    In a moment she returned. “This is all there was in that pocket.” She handed me the stranger’s wallet.
    I accepted it. “This is the weapon