Chapter 32 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
OLD MR. THROGMORTON
“It fits, it fits!” cried Matthew, jumping up in his excitement when I had explained what Kling had said. “The gardener told me the father and son could never get along together. And that's why Sidney Throgmorton stayed abroad most of the time till after the old man died. And the father didn't want it known that they couldn't agree, see? So of course he would keep the will dark. It all fits like a glove. The dog's a wizard. But listen: we ought to do something quick. That man is liable to try and burn the house down again any minute.”
One would have thought to hear the Cats'-meat-Man talk that it was he who would lose most by the will's destruction. And I must confess that the fascination of the mystery and the desire to frustrate the iniquitous Sidney Throgmorton had me too in its grip by this time.
“Oh, I don't think he'll make another attempt in a hurry,” I said. “It would look fishy. After all, he has got to be careful, you see. If he knows there was a will, then what he tried to do was a criminal offense—goodness, I don't wonder he was mad with us!”
“The next step for you, I should say,” Kling went on, “is to try and find out to whom the old Throgmorton would have been most likely to leave his money.”
At that Cheapside, whom in our interest we had forgotten all about, hopped onto the table and started talking.
“Folks,” said he, “I think I can help you there, maybe. I saw a good deal of the old Mr. Throgmorton, and a mighty fine gentleman he was. It wasn't at Moorsden Manor that I saw him, because he only spent a week or two out of every year here. But to one of his other places, Bencote Castle, down in Sussex, I used to go regular, at one time, in the early Autumn. The old man, as maybe you know, retired from business when he was getting on in years. And 'e spent 'is old age, pleasant like, raisin' prize stock, cows, sheep and horses—specially heavy draft horses. He was good to animals all round, was old Jonathan T. Throgmorton. He had bird-fountains put out in all his gardens, nesting boxes in the trees and everything. And he gave one of his footmen the special job of throwing out crumbs every morning for the sparrows and wild birds. Some days, when the old man was well enough, he used to do it himself. That's how I came to know him. Besides all that, he did a whole lot towards making life easier for work animals—paid to have drinking-troughs put up for horses, and kept extra help-teams, at his own expense, on all the bad hills in more than one town where he had homes. He was a friend to animals and a fine old gent, if ever there was one. I wouldn't wonder, Tommy, if he left part of this fortune to the same cause, the happiness of animals.”
Before Cheapside had quite finished speaking I got out my pocket-book in which I had carefully preserved the scrap of parchment. I spread the fragment out and re-read the few words which had been nibbled from the will. They were in four lines. The first line ran: “trustees who shall have——.” The second line, beginning a new paragraph, was: “I bequeath——.” The third: “by said party or parties——.” And the last: “an Association for pre——.”
To every one's astonishment I suddenly sprang up and said:
“Let's all go and see the Doctor—just as quickly as we possibly can.”
The Manor mouse excused himself, saying that he ought to be getting back home as it was late and his wife might be anxious. As we left the room the white mouse told me he would accompany his friend as far as the gate and would rejoin me in a minute or two. Together the rest of us, Matthew, Jip, Kling, Cheapside and I, proceeded at once to the study, where we found John Dolittle, as usual, at work on his books.
“Doctor,” I cried bursting in, “I'm dreadfully sorry to interrupt you, but I really feel you ought to hear this.”
With a patient sigh he laid down his pen as I poured forth my tale.
“Now don't you see, Doctor,” I ended showing him the scrap of parchment again, “it is practically certain that when this piece is joined to the rest that last line will read, 'an Association for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,' or some such title. For that is the cause in which this man had already spent great sums of money while he was alive. And that is the cause which the wretched son Sidney Throgmorton has robbed of probably a large fortune. Doctor, it is the animals who have been cheated.”
We all watched the Doctor's face eagerly as he pondered for a silent moment over my somewhat dramatic harangue. At length I thought I saw from his expression signs of sympathy, if not agreement.
“But, Stubbins,” said he quietly, “aren't you basing most of this on guesswork, conjecture—though I admit it sounds plausible enough. Tell me: what do you want me to do?”
“Doctor,” I said, “we've got to get that will.”
“Yes, yes, I quite see that,” said he. “But how? Even if we got into the house—risking arrest for burglary and all that—what chance would we stand of finding it, if Sidney Throgmorton, living there all the time and hunting for it ever since his father's death, couldn't find it?”
I saw at once that he was right. The difficulties of the task I proposed were enormous. But while I stood there silent, discouraged and perplexed, I suddenly heard the white mouse out in the passage squeaking at the top of his voice:
“Tommy, Tommy!—They've found it. They've found it! The mice have found the will.”