THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 026 ] idiot mode: activated

XXVI.

i d i o t   m o d e :
a c t i v a t e d

—POGO WENT TO ANSWER the doorbell. It had been an unusually aggressive peal, and now, before he could make his slow way across the hall, it pealed out again.

Pogo flushed. An ill‐mannered, impatient way of ringing the bell at a gentleman's house! If it was a fresh lot of those Girl Scouts he'd give them a piece of his mind.

Through the frosted glass of the upper half of the door he saw two silhouettes. There was a small boy in culottes—the young Number Five—and a girl. Some fille de joie, no doubt.

He opened the door. As he had thought—a cheap, flashy stranger—nasty light-up sneakers she was wearing—loud! One of those impudent begging tramps.

"Five," said the stranger, turning to her companion. "Why is a fashionable chimpanzee answering the door?"

Pogo stared—took a deep breath—stared again. There was something magnetic about this girl, as if a supernatural force was insisting he like her. He felt instinctively that she was a good person—an extraordinary person. Certainly no tramp. Why, she ought to be crowned queen of the world!

He said politely: "How do you do, Miss?"

Her jaw went slack, and Pogo's sharp eyes did not fail to note the effort with which Number Five suppressed an amused smile.

"He—He's a—"

"A talking monkey, yes," Five said hurriedly, practically pushing her through the doorway. "Zara, meet Pogo; Pogo, meet Zara. No, don't answer her questions, Pogo. It's bad enough that she had to meet ape-man. She'll be running tests on you all day if you let her, and we don't have time for that."

"But why not?" cried Zara. "He talks—he actually talks—it's incredible! It's unbelievable!"

"Oh, well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that, Miss Zara," Pogo demurred, feeling very pleased with the attention.

But the hall was empty by the time he raised his head, and the girl—along with whatever sorcery had possessed him to feel such an innate connection to her—was gone. Pogo sighed, closed the door, and went to reacquaint himself with the morning radio programme.

. . .

—"CHALK," FIVE MUTTERED, opening and closing desk drawers as he scurried around the room. "Chalk. Where's the chalk? I need chalk!"

Zara was seated on the linoleum floor of Five's bedroom, piling little coloured blocks on one another, before knocking them over and starting again. Red over yellow . . . yellow over blue . . .

"Try under the bed," she said absently. "Children like to hide things under beds. So do parrots. Isn't that right, Kiki?"

Kiki gave a big sneeze. No one ever knew whether her sneezes were real or put on. The Handler always felt quite certain that she was faking it.

"Does no one in this house have manners?" grumbled Five, retrieving the chalk from under the bed.

"Pardon me," Kiki obliged.