Prompt: Bells (W. Y. Traveller)
A small black cat, evidently a mouser, wound around Watson's boots and its tail curled around my ankles.
"What are you doing here?" Watson addressed the creature as though it might answer.
However, the remark was not without insight. "That is precisely the question!" I proclaimed. "You are right, Watson, our circumstances may not be so hopeless after all."
Watson looked up from the feline to me with a questioning glance. "Do you mean…?"
"If a cat can get in, then we may very well be able to get out. If it would so kindly lead the way."
The cat sat and preened itself with its paw. Unlike a dog, such a creature could not be stirred by reason or bribe.
I glanced at Watson in my exasperation, and he was not quite swift enough to conceal a chuckle.
With no other recourse, I advanced toward the cat, and it hastily fled into the corner of the cellar, where more shelves met the wall and there it vanished. Watson already had the lantern in hand and we hastened after it. The crack between the stone shelf and the wall was a narrow one and I had disregarded it in my examination before, but now I gave it a proper look in the full light of the lantern.
Mrow. The impatient cry of the cat echoed from somewhere in the dark beyond.
"Yes, yes," I dismissed it. "Watson, if you would?"
He put down the lantern and stepped forward to aid me in pushing aside the heavy stone shelves, until we revealed the pressed dirt behind it. And there was the cat, standing in the mouth of a low-hewn tunnel, little taller than it.
Mrow.
"Do you think that's why Inspector Lestrade's quarry came out to this house?" Watson asked.
"A very reasonable hypothesis. The only thing to do is see where it leads."
"Shall we?" Without hesitation, Watson motioned toward the tunnel, which may have been a comfortable means of egress for a cat, but which would be a narrow squeeze for a man.
I clapped my arm across his shoulders. "My dear Watson, you are without equal."
Even I did not relish crouching down and slithering into the tunnel, pulling myself along on my forearms until I was entirely immersed. The cat trotted along unperturbedly ahead of me in the dark.
I continued on until I could see no more, and Watson called from behind me, his breath coming as fast as my own, "I'm in. I haven't done this since my army days."
"It should not be long," I answered as clearly and reassuringly as I was able. "I do not expect anyone would willingly prolong this."
Sure enough, as I continued pulling myself onward, the tunnel began to slope gradually upward, making toward the surface, though I could not measure the incline with any precision.
"I expect it must be an impromptu means of escape," I remarked between heavy breaths, doing as I might to disregard the ache in my muscles.
Haltingly, Watson asked, "Do you think they saw Lestrade coming and this is how they fled?"
"Possibly."
The close, earthy air began to sharpen, and at last, the darkness ahead gave way to a patch of light brown and with a sudden motion, our feline companion leaped up, out of sight.
"We're almost there!" I called.
Watson gave a breathy cheer.
I scrambled faster to the exit, the light brightening all the way, until at last I emerged onto the open grass beneath a gleaming grey sky. The cat sat licking its paw, evidently without a care in the world.
I turned to pull Watson up and out after me, and as we could not bring ourselves to stand, we held each other tightly, seated upon the hard, cold ground, still breathing fast, as though it might replenish our sore and aching muscles.
"I have never felt so young nor so old." Watson's heavy breathing seemed to fade into breathy laughter.
"Nor I," I confessed, giving way to laughter as well, even as my sides felt like they had already split; I clutched his shoulder to steady myself.
We were so preoccupied in our relief that we did not notice anything approaching until we heard the rough sound of a chorus of tin cowbells ringing all around us.