The 101 Dalmatians (17 page)

“Yes, Pongo,” said Missis gaily. But she did not feel as gay as she sounded. For Missis, who had been so brave, so confident up to the moment they had found the miracle, had suddenly been smitten by a great fear. Suppose the Dearlys did not recognize them now they were black dogs? Suppose the dear, dear Dearlys turned them away?

She kept her fears to herself. Why should she frighten Pongo with them? How fast the miracle was travelling! She thought of the days it had taken her and Pongo to reach' Suffolk on foot. Why, it seemed like weeks since they had left London! Yet it was only—how long? Could it be only
four
days? They'd slept one day in the stable at the inn, one day at the dear Spaniel‘s, one day in the Folly, part of a night in the barn after the escape from Hell Hall, then a day at the bakery. So much had happened in so short a time. And now, would it be all right when they got home? Would it? Would it?

Meanwhile, Pongo had his own worries. He had been telling the Staffordshire all about Cruella and had remembered what she had said that night at Hell Hall—how she intended to wait until people had forgotten about the stolen puppies, and then start her Dalmatian fur farm again. Surely he and Missis would get this lot of puppies safely home (it had never occurred to
him
that the Dearlys might not let them in), but what of the future? How could he make sure that other puppies did not end up as fur coats later on? He asked for advice.

“Why not kill this Cruella?” said the Staffordshire. “And I'll help you. Let's make a date for it now.”

Pongo shook his head. He had come to believe that Cruella was not an ordinary human but some kind of devil. If so, could one kill her? In any case, he didn't want his pups to have a killer-dog for a father. He would have sprung at Cruella if she had attacked any pup, but he didn't fancy cold-blooded murder. He told the Staffordshire so.

“Your blood would soon warm up, once you started the job,” said the Staffordshire. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. And now you take a nap, mate. You've still got quite a job ahead of you.”

The Staffordshire, like Missis, wondered if the Dearlys would recognize these black Dalmatians—and if even the kindest pets would take in so many pups. But he said nothing of this to Pongo.

Missis, lulled by the movement of the van, had fallen asleep. Soon Pongo slept too. But their dreams were haunted by their separate anxieties.

On and on through the dark went the mile-eating miracle.

THE Staffordshire woke them in good time—every pup must be ready to leap out of the van the minute the tailboard was put down.

“Not that my dear pets would hurt you if they saw you,” said the Staffordshire. “But it might cause delay. The van will stop in a big, dark garage. Streak out, turn sharp left, and you will be in a dimly lit mews—and on your way. We'll say good-bye now.”

“Can we send you news on the Twilight Barking?” asked Pongo.

“Hardly ever get the chance to listen to it,” said the Staf fordshire. “But I shall get news of you all right. I'm a great one for newspapers—they pass the time on the road. Always plenty of them in the van; we use them for packing. Well, here we are.”

The van stopped. The Staffordshire started to bark loudly.

“Let him out, Jim,” said Bill. “Before he breaks the Sound Barrier.”

Down came the tailboard. Out shot the Staffordshire. This time he managed to knock Jim right down, before turning to Bill, whom he tackled low.

“Just about winded me, he has,” said Bill proudly. “Grrh, you Flying Saucer, you!”

Jim got to his feet and spoke lovingly to the Staffordshire. “If England had six of you, we shouldn't need no army,” he said. “Come home and get your supper, you Misguided Missile.”

Bill and Jim had been much too occupied to notice the black dogs streaming out of the van and out of the dark garage into the mews. Snow had been falling for hours, so that London was all white. The pups had scarcely noticed the snow while they were running away from Cruella's car. Now they at once fell in love with this beautiful feathery stuff—it raised their spirits wonderfully. And they felt well rested after their sleep in the van. They were still hungry, but they didn't mind that much because they were expecting a wonderful supper. Hearing them counting on this, poor Missis felt more anxious than ever.

Bill, Jim, and the Staffordshire had gone out of the garage by another way, so Pongo let the pups play in the snowy mews for a few minutes. Then Missis persuaded the Cadpig to get back into her cart, and off they went. Because of the snow there were very few people about—which was just as well, as the army of black dogs was now very noticeable against the white streets. The only person who saw them was an elderly gentleman on his way to a late party. He rubbed his eyes, then shook his head and murmured, “And I haven't even begun Christmas yet.”

It took only a few minutes to reach the Outer Circle. How beautiful Regent's Park looked, snowy under the stars!

Pongo said, “Missis, do you remember what I told you when we said good-bye to the park?”

Missis answered, “You told me to think of the day when we would come back with fifeen puppies running behind us. And now we have ninety-seven.”

They had not come back to the Outer Circle by the way they had left it, but were at the other side of the park, close to Cruella de Vil's house. As they drew near to it, Pongo saw that every window was dark, so he thought it would be safe to call a moment's halt.

“Look, pups,” he told them. “That is our enemy's house.”

Lucky said, “May we scratch it and bite it?”

“You would only hurt your nails and your teeth,” said Pongo, looking up at the huge house.

Missis was looking down into the area. Something moved there—something only a little less white than the snow. It was Cruella's Persian cat.

Her back was arched, and she was spitting angrily. Pongo said quickly, “Madam, none of us would ever dream of hurting you.”

The white cat said, “That's the civilest speech I ever had from a dog. Who are you? There are no black dogs round here. ”

We are not usually black except for our spots,“ said Pongo. ”We once visited your house—“

He got no further because the white cat guessed everything—as well she might, after all the talk she had heard between Mr. and Mrs. de Vil.

“And you've rescued all the pups from Hell Hall! Well, bravo, bravo! I couldn't be more pleased.”

Then Missis remembered what Cruella de Vil had said on the night when the puppies were born, and she spoke to the white cat very kindly, saying, “I might have known you would sympathize—for I once heard you lost many kittens in early infancy.”

“Forty-four, to the present date,” said the white cat. “All drowned by the fiend I live with.”

“Why don't you leave her?” asked Pongo.

“I bide my time,” said the white cat. “I wait for my full revenge. I can't do much on my own—I've only two pairs of paws. But I scare the servants away—any cat can make a house seem haunted. I let the place become overrun with mice. And, oh, how I scratch the furniture! Though it's heartbreak ing how little she notices it—she's such a rotten housewife. Why not let your pups come in and do some damage now?”

“Oh, please, please let us!” clamoured all the pups.

Pongo shook his head. “Cruella will be back. I'm surprised she's not home already.”

“Oh, she's been back,” said the white cat, “and gone out to dinner. She had to, because I scared another batch of servants away this morning—as a little Christmas present for her. Do come in!”

“No, no, Pongo!” cried Missis. “This is no moment for revenge. We should get the pups home. They are hungry.”

But the pups clamoured louder than ever. “Please, please,
please
let us damage Cruella's house!” They made so much noise that Missis could not hear what the white cat was now saying to Pongo. At last he turned, quietened the pups, and said, “Missis, I now feel that we
should
do as our friend here suggests. It would take me a long time to explain why, so will you trust me, please?”

“Of course, Pongo,” said Missis loyally. “And if you're sure we really ought to be revenged on Cruella—well, naturally, I shall enjoy it.”

“Then follow me,” said the white cat. “There's a way in at the back.”

Lucky and two big, loud-barked pups were left on guard. They were sorry to miss the fun, but duty was duty.

Three barks if you sight the striped car or hear its horn,“ Pongo told them, then marched all the other pups after the white cat. The little blue cart was left in the mews at the back of the house—the Cadpig insisted on going into the house and getting her fair share of the revenge.

The white cat took them in through the coal cellar.

“Nothing down here worth wrecking,” she said, making for the stairs. Up through the dark house they went, until she paused outside a bolted door.

“Now, if you really can undo that bolr!” she said to Pongo, Goodness knows, I've tried often enough.“

“Oh, he's splendid at bolts,” said Missis proudly.

It was a nice chromium bolt, well oiled. It gave Pongo no trouble at all.

There was enough light from the lamps on the Outer Circle to show them a big room in which were many racks of fur coats.

“Why, Cruella must own dozens of them!” thought Missis. And there were many fur stoles, muffs, et cetera, too.

Pongo barked his orders. “Four pups to a coat, two pups to a stole, one pup to a muff. Present teeth! Tear-r-r!!!”

There was not space enough in one room to finish the whole job, so the pups spread themselves throughout the house. After that the fur flew with a vengeance—in every direction. Chinchilla, Sable, Mink, and Beaver, Nutria, Fox, Kolinsky, and many humbler skins—from kitchen to attic the house was filled with a fog of fur. And the white cat did not forget the ermine sheets. She did good work on those herself, moving so fast that it was hard to see which was clawed white ermine and which was clawing white cat.

“I've been slack,” she said. “I could have got at these years ago.”

“One needs company for a job like this,” said Pongo.

“No more furs to tear now,” said the Cadpig sadly. She had just shredded a little sable tippet all by herself.

Quiet!“ barked Pongo suddenly. Had his ears deceived him? No, there it was again—a distant blast from the loudest motor-horn in England! The next instant, the pups outside barked the alarm.

“Down, down to the coal cellar!” barked Pongo.

There was a wild scurry of pups down the dark stairs. The white cat sprang to a window. “You'll have time,” she cried. “The car's only just turned into the Outer Circle.”

But Pongo knew how fast that car could come. And pups were falling over one another in the darkness; there were bumps and yelps. Roly Poly fell through the banisters—it was amazing that he was not hurt. But at last they were all streaming out of the coal cellar into the mews.

“In your places for counting!” barked Pongo. He had long ago invented a quick way of counting the army. Pups formed nine rows of ten, and one row of seven, which included the Cadpig in her cart. Swiftly he counted now. Ninety-three, ninety-four—There were three pups missing!

“They must be somewhere in the house,” cried Missis. “We must rescue them!”

Pongo dashed towards the coal cellar—then stopped, gasping with relief. Lucky and the two loud-barked pups were just coming from the front of the house. Pongo had forgotten them in his counting. The army was complete!

“Cruella's nearly here,” said Lucky.

“We must make sure she's gone indoors before we march on,” said Pongo, and he ran into the narrow passage that led to the Outer Circle.

Missis ran after him. “Be careful, Pongo! She'll see you!”

“Not in this dark passage,” said Pongo.

The striped car went by the end of the passage. A light was on inside, and they could see Cruella clearly.

“Oh, Pongo!” wailed Missis. “She's still got her absolutely simple white mink cloak.”

Pongo ran on towards the Outer Circle, and Missis ran after him. Cautiously they peered out of the passage and saw the striped car stop in front of the de Vils' house. Mr. de Vil, who had been driving, helped Cruella out and then went up the front-door steps. He started to search for his latchkey. Cruella stood waiting, with the cloak hanging loosely round her shoulders.

“I shan't sleep if she keeps that cloak,” said Missis.

“And you
need
your sleep, Missis,” said Pongo.