“It’s terrible,” Harriet agreed wholeheartedly. “But as spies we have to be tough and not let it get to us. The mission is everything, you see, and we’re trained to withstand the worst kinds of torture.”
“Not that kind of torture, surely,” said Polly, her voice full of admiration.
Harriet nodded.“Even that.”
“You guys are braver than me. Much braver.”
“So Brian is in here all the time, is he?” asked Brutus, eager to glean some more tidbits of information they could relay to Gran.
“Oh, yes. You see, Jane likes to play cards in the afternoon. Every afternoon. And Brian knows this, and so does Gladys. Which is why they use this time to get up to all kinds of no good.” She made a face. “And I have to sit here and watch it!”
“You could always close your eyes,” Harriet suggested.
“Oh, but I do. But even so, I have to listen to them—and I’m not sure what’s worse: the sight of humans having sex or the sound!”
It was an aspect of the matter Brutus hadn’t considered. So far they’d only seen the couple through the window, without the sound being turned on. He dreaded the moment Gran would send them in there again, and this time they might be subjected to the version with sound!
“I salute you,” said Polly reverently. “You’re both very, very brave. And I unreservedly take back everything I ever said about cats being the nastiest creatures on the planet. I stand corrected. Absolutely corrected.” And to show them she meant what she said, she actually brought her right wing to her right temple in a salute!
Now those were the moments one lived for, and Brutus couldn’t wait to tell Max. The chubby blorange cat might be the greatest feline detective that had ever lived, but he probably had never been saluted by a parrot!
Score one for Team Harriet and Brutus!
14
While Harriet and Brutus were digging into the complicated love life of Brian Brooks, Dooley and I decided to look in on Henry once more. We hadn’t actually seen Kirsten walk in, but that didn’t stop us from spying on the man. I was still very much interested in taking a look at his notebooks, containing all the details of his long and adventurous life—as soon chronicled by Bob, at least if the latter accepted the job, which seemed unlikely.
“I want to look at his notes,” I told my friend.
“And I want to look at his bathroom,” said Dooley.
“Why his bathroom?”
“I once read that you can learn a lot about a person from looking at their bathroom.”
“The only thing you will learn is how good Brian’s cleaning staff is,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess,” said Dooley. “But still. Maybe he keeps all kinds of dark secrets in there. Secrets he doesn’t want to share with anyone!”
“Except with the cleaners,” I said. “Who are in there every day.”
“He could have organized a secret hiding place.”
“Why not,” I said.
And we would have snuck into Henry’s room once again, if the old man himself hadn’t stepped out at that moment, and we almost bumped into him. He hadn’t noticed us, though, his attention focused on the man who was sweeping the floor in the corridor. He was a slovenly dressed man, with greasy long hair and a dirty baseball capplanted on top of all of that grease. He also had some kind of facial growth going, though it looked a little ragged, just like the man himself.
“Hey, you,” said Henry now, possibly addressing the cleaner, though I very much doubted the man’s name was Hey You.
“Leave it, man,” said the cleaner, as he continued to sweep the floor with one of those mops that consists of a bunch of cotton strings.
“I’m not going to leave it,” said Henry, and tapped the man in the chest with a finger. “You’re making the floor even dirtier. You should be making it cleaner, but you’re making it dirtier.”
“Not again with this nonsense,” said the man, leaning on his mop. “How many times, man?”
“As long as it takes to get it through that thick skull of yours that you should use a bucket of clean soapy water, and fill a new bucket every couple of meters, and not keep pushing the same dirt around all the time.”
“I am a professional, man. I do this for a living. When was the last time you cleaned a floor, huh? Tell me that.”
“I don’t have to clean the floor. I live here. I pay for the privilege of living here, in a clean place. And since I pay through the nose for your salary, I have every right to tell you how to do your job, especially since you don’t seem to be bothered to do it well.”
“Look, if you don’t like the way I clean, take it up with the manager, all right? And now leave me alone, you old fart.”
“I’m going to leave you alone the moment you start cleaning the floor the way it should be cleaned,” Henry insisted, then gave the man a hard poke in the chest.
“Now why did you have to go and do that for!” the guy cried as he grabbed hold of Henry’s finger and pushed him away from him.
Henry stumbled and almost fell, and had to hold on to the wall to keep his balance.
“You could have killed me!” Henry cried. “You maniac!”