Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

Pongo’s brain was beginning to work. “If we attack them, they may kill us,” he whispered to Missis. “And then there will be no one to help the pups. Quiet! Let me think.”

The Badduns were talking together in low grunts.

“One thing’s certain,” said Jasper. “We can’t do it tonight or we shall miss ‘What’s My Crime?’ ”

It was their very favourite television programme. Two ladies and two gentlemen, in faultless evening dress, had to guess the crime committed by a lady or gentleman in equally faultless evening dress. Stern moralists said this programme was causing a crime wave and filling the prisons, because people committed crimes in the hope of being chosen as contestants. But crime is usually waving and the prisons are usually full, so probably “What’s My Crime?” had not made much difference. Both the Badduns longed to appear as contestants, but they knew they would never be chosen unless they committed a really original crime, and they had never been able to think of one.

“We could kill the pups after ‘What’s My Crime?’ Jasper,” said Saul. “We ought to do it tonight, while they’re sleepy. They’ll be more dangerous when they’re wide awake.”

“It’s a nuisance, that’s what it is,” said Jasper. “And whatever way we do it, we shall be exhausted . First the killing and then the skinning!”

“Maybe we’ll get the knack of the skinning,” said Saul. “Then we can skin while we watch the telly.”

“Still, ninety-seven pups!” said Jasper. Then a wild gleam came into his eyes. “Saul, I bet no one else has ever murdered ninety-seven Dalmatians. It might do the trick for us! It might get us onto ‘What’s My Crime?’ ”

“ Now you’re talking!” said Saul Baddun. “You and me, in evening dress with carnations in our buttonholes—and all England watching us. But we must think out some really striking way of doing our crime. Could we skin them alive? ”

“They’d never keep still,” said Jasper. “What about boiling them?”

Pongo whispered to Missis, “We shall have to attack. It’s our only hope.”

“I’ll get the biggest pups to help you,” said Luckly quietly. “We’ll all help. I can bite quite well.”

And then—something happened! The Cadpig, whose eyes were fixed on the silent television screen, gave three short, sharp barks. No human ear would have known that those barks meant “What’s my Crime?” but the Baddun brothers, started by the noise, looked toward the Cadpig and, in doing so, noticed the television screen. Saul Baddun let out a roar of rage; Jasper Baddun gave a howl of misery. It was on! “What’s My Crime?”—but without any sound, of course. They were missing it, their favourite of all programmes, and just when for the first time they had hopes of appearing on it! They hurled themselves at the television set. Saul turned the sound on full blast. Jasper adjusted the picture. Then they flung themselves down on their mattresses, grunting with delight.

“They won’t stir for the next half-hour,” whispered Lucky.

At last Pongo’s brain sprang into full action! Instantly he whispered to Lucky, “March the pups out to the stableyard! Your mother and I will mount guard over the Badduns.”

Lucky whispered, “If we could go out through the larder, we could eat tomorrow’s breakfast on our way. That’s the door—by the fireplace. It’s bolted, but I expect you can unbolt it, can’t you, Father?”

Pongo had never even tried to unbolt a door, but he had seen the Sheepdog do it. “Yes, Lucky,” he said firmly. “I can unbolt it.”

They tiptoed across the kitchen. Then Pongo stood on his hind legs and took the bolt in his teeth. It would not budge. He rested his teeth and took a good look at the bolt in the light from the fire. He saw the knob was turned down and would have to be raised before the bolt would slide.

“ Now we shan’t be long,” he said to Lucky, and again took the knob in his teeth. He raised it, tried to slide it. Still it would not slide. He thought, “Lucky will lose confidence in me,” and he dragged and dragged until he thought his teeth would break. Then he began to fear that if the bolt did shoot back it would make a loud noise. Just then there was a burst of applause from the television—someone had guessed a contestant. (He had stolen two hundred bath plugs from hotels.) Pongo made a desperate effort. The bolt shot back. The larder door swung open.

“I knew you’d do it, Father,” said Lucky proudly.

“Just a matter of knowing how,” said Pongo, running his tongue round his teeth to make sure they were all still there.

A cold draught came from the larder. It had been the dairy when Hell Hall was a farm, and there were wooden slats instead of windows. The moonlight, shining in through the slats, made bright stripes on the stone floor. Meat for the puppies’ breakfast was already set out in long troughs—because the Badduns hated working in the early morning. There were small troughs for the little pups and big ones for the larger pups.

Pongo said to Lucky, “Wait until I get back to your mother. Then, while she and I stand ready to attack the Badduns, march all the pups in here. Tell them no pup is to eat until the last pup has a place at a trough. I will join you then and give the word to start eating.”

It was remarkable how quickly the pups left the kitchen, under Sergent Lucky’s whispered directions. Row after row marched out, like children leaving a school hall after prayers, except that the big pups left first, as they were nearest the door. Pongo and Missis watched the Badduns anxiously, for the hundreds of little toenails made a clitter-clatter on the kitchen floor, and there were a few scuffles, snuffles, and snorts—though never even the smallest bark, for the pups guessed that their lives depended on their silence. But the Badduns had eyes and ears for nothing but television.

Lucky left his own brothers and sisters to the last—and last of all to leave was the Cadpig. She was an intelligent little puppy and quite understood that she had to escape, but oh, how she hated leaving the television! She went out backwards, still staring at the screen.

Then Pongo and Missis sped swiftly and silently across the big red kitchen. They looked back from the larder door and saw that the Badduns had not stirred.

“How much longer will ‘What’s My Crime?’ last?” whispered Pongo.

“Twenty minutes,” said the Cadpig promptly and wistfully.

Pongo and Missis closed the larder door. The bolt on the inside was low down and easy to manage. Pongo shot it home at once, while the pups looked on admiringly. Every pup had its place at a trough, but not one lick of food had been eaten.

“One, two, three—feed!” commanded Pongo.

In fifty-nine seconds flat every scrap of food had been eaten.

“But what about you and Mother?” said Lucky. “I think I can find the Badduns’ Sunday dinner.”

He found it on a shelf—two steaks, rather poor grade, but Pongo and Missis swiftly ate them. Then Pongo gave troops the right to forage and led a search through the larder. Everything eatable was eaten, the big pups sharing with the little pups most fairly.

“Anything in that cupboard?” said Pongo at last.

“Only coke for the central-heating furnace,” said Lucky. “Well, the Badduns won’t find anything to eat tomorrow, will they?”

“Let them eat coke,” said Pongo.

The entire meal had taken nearly five minutes. Pongo now felt he must get his troops out of Hell Hall as fast as possible. There had been no time to think out plans for the future—he was counting on the Colonel’s advice. All that could be done now was to lead the pups to the Folly. The outer door of the larder was easily opened; then across the old orchard they went and in at the door which the Colonel had so thoughtfully propped open. Missis gave one backward glance at black Hell Hall under the full moon. What would the Badduns do when they found not one pup in the kitchen?