Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 4

suddenly dealt me three hearty
smacks--one on the shoulder, one on the arm and one in the small of
the back. I removed myself hastily out of range.
"Tarantulas, or Peruvian ant-bears, crawling all over you," Miss Brown

explained. "Fortunate I saw them in time, as their suck is fatal in
ninety-nine cases out of a million, or so GARIBALDI says in the
Origin of Species." She sniffed. "Tell me, do you smell blood?"
I told her that I did not.
"I do," she said, "quite close at hand too. Yum-yum, I like warm
blood." She looked at me through half-closed eyelids. "I should think
you'd bleed very prettily, very prettily."
I removed myself still further out of range, assuring her that in spite of
my complexion I was in reality anæmic.
She pointed a finger at me. "I know where those policemen are. They're
in the garden digging for the body."
"What body?" I gasped.
"Why, EINSTEIN'S, of course," said Miss Brown. "Edward murdered
him last night for his theory. Didn't you suspect?"
I confessed that I had not.
"Oh, yes," she said; "smothered him with a pen-wiper. I saw him do it,
but I said nothing for Angela's sake, she's so refined."
She darted from me into the drawing-room. I followed and found her
standing before the fireplace waving the candle wildly in one hand, a
poker in the other and sniffing loudly.
"We must save Edward," she said; "we must find the body and hide it
before they can bring in a writ of Habeas Corpus. It is here. I can smell
blood. Look under the sofa."
She made a flourish at me with her weapon and I at once dived under
the sofa. I am a brave man, but I know better than to withstand people
in Miss Brown's state of mind.
"Is it there?" she inquired.

"No."
"Then search under the carpet--quickly!"
She swung the poker round her head and I searched quickly under the
carpet. During the next hour, at the dictates of her and her poker, I
burrowed under a score of carpets, swarmed numerous book-cases,
explored a host of cupboards, dived under a multitude of furniture and
even climbed into the open chimney-place of the study, because Miss
Brown's nose imagined it smelt roasting flesh up there. These people
must be humoured. When I came down (accompanied by a heavy fall
of soot) the lady had vanished. I rushed into the hall. She was mounting
the stairs.
"Where are you going now?" I demanded.
She leaned over the balustrade and nodded to me, yawning broadly:
"To Edward's room. He must have taken the corpse to bed with him."
"Stop! Hold on! Come back," I implored, panic-stricken. Miss Brown
held imperviously on. I sped after her, but mercifully she had got the
rooms mixed in her decomposed brain and, instead of turning into
Edward's, walked straight into her own and shut the door behind her. I
wedged a chair against the handle to prevent any further excursions for
the night and crept softly away.
As I went I heard a soft chuckle from within, the senseless laughter, as
I diagnosed it, of a raving maniac.
* * * * *
I got down to breakfast early next morning, determined to tell the
whole sad story and have Miss Brown put under restraint without
further ado.
Before I could get a word out, however, the lunatic herself appeared,
looking, I thought, absolutely full of beans. She and Aunt Angela
exchanged salutations.

"I hope you slept better last night, Jane."
"Splendidly, thank you, Angela, except for an hour or so; but I got up
and walked it off."
"Walked it off! Where?"
"All over the house. Most exciting."
"Do you mean to say you were walking about the house last night all by
yourself?" Aunt Angela exclaimed in horror.
Miss Brown shook her grey head. "Oh, no, not by myself. Our
sympathetic young friend had a touch of insomnia himself for once and
was good enough to keep me company." She smiled sweetly in my
direction. "He was most entertaining. I've been chuckling ever since."
PATLANDER.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Urchin (_who has been "moved on" by emaciated
policeman_). "AIN'T YER GOT A COOK ON YOUR BEAT?"]
* * * * *
OUR SPARTAN EDITORS.
"WANTED: THE CAT. By Horatio Bottomley."--_John Bull._
* * * * *
MARDI GRAS.
(_With the British Army in France._)
"Have you reflected, mon chou," said M'sieur Bonneton, complacently
regarding the green carnations on his carpet-slippers, "that to-morrow is
Mardi Gras?"

"I have," replied Madame shortly.
"One may expect then, _ma petite,_ that there will be _crêpes_ for
dinner?"
"With eggs at twelve francs the dozen?" said Madame decidedly. "One
may not."
On any other matter M'sieur would probably have taken his