"Lend me fifty cents, will you?" I asked Mercedes. "I want to phone up Marie."

"Why?" inquired Mercedes.

"If you must know she's promised to find me a place to keep the tapir.* The hotel won't let me keep it on the roof."

"What is a tapir?" asked Josefina interestedly.

"It's a sort of animal, about as big as a pony, with a long nose. It looks like a small elephant gone wrong."*

"I am not surprised that the hotel won't let you keep it on the roof," said Mercedes.

"But this one's only a baby about the size of a pig."

"Well, here's your fifty cents."

I found the phone, mastered the intricacies of the Argentine telephone system and dialed Marie's number.

"Marie? Gerry here. What luck about the tapir?"

"Well, my friends are away so you can't take him there. But Mama says why not bring him here and keep him in the garden."

"Are you sure that's all right?"

"Well, it was Mama's idea." "Yes, but are you sure she knows what a tapir is?"

"Yes, I told her it was a little animal with fur." 

"Not exactly a zoological description. What's she going to say when I turn up with something that's nearly bald and the size of a pig?"

"Once it's here, it's here," said Marie logically.

I sighed.

"All right. I'll bring it round this evening. O. K.?"

"O. K., and don't forget some food for it." I went back to where Josefina and Mercedes were waiting with an air of well-bred curiosity. "Well, what did she say?" inquired Mercedes at length.

"We put Operation Tapir into force* at four o'clock this afternoon."

"Where do we take it?"

"To Marie's house. Her mother's offered to keep it in the garden."

"Good God, no!" said Mercedes with considerable dramatic effect.

"Well, why not?" I asked.

"But you cannot take it there, Gerry. The garden is only a small one. Besides, Mrs. Rodriguez is very fond of her flowers."

"What's that got to do with the tapir? He'll be on a leash. Anyway, he's got to go somewhere, and that's the only offer of accommodation I've had so far."

"All right, take him there," said Mercedes with the ill-concealed air of satisfaction of one who knows she is right, "but don't say I didn't warn you."

"All right, all right. Let's go and have some lunch now, because I've got to pick up Jacquie* at two o'clock to go and see the shipping people about our return passages. After that we can go and pick up Claudius."*

"Who's Claudius?" asked Mercedes puzzled.

"The tapir. I've christened him that because with that Roman snout of his he looks like one of the ancient Emperors."

"Claudius!" said Josefina, giggling. "Dat is blurry funny."

So, at four o'clock that afternoon we collected the somewhat reluctant tapir and drove round to Marie's house, purchasing en route* a long dog-leash and a collar big enough for a Great Dane.* The garden was, as Mercedes had said, very small. It measured some fifty feet by fifty, a sort of hollow square surrounded on three sides by the black walls of the neighbouring houses, and on the fourth side was a tiny verandah and French windows,* leading into the Rodriguez establishment. It was, by virtue of the height of the buildings surrounding it, a damp and rather gloomy little garden, but Mrs. Rodriguez had done wonders to improve it by planting those flowers and shrubs which flourish best in such ill-lit situations. We had to carry Claudius, kicking violently, through the house, out of the French windows, where we attached his leash to the bottom of the steps. He wiffled his Roman snout appreciatively at the scents of damp earth and flowers that were wafted to him, and heaved a deep sigh of content. I placed a bowl of water by his side, a huge stack of chopped vegetables and fruit, and left him. Marie promised that she would phone me at the hotel the first thing the following morning and let me know how Claudius had settled down. This she dutifully did.

"Gerry? Good morning."

"Good morning. How's Claudius?"

"Well, I think you had better come round," she said with an air of someone trying to break bad news tactfully.

"Why, what's the matter? He's not ill, is he?" I asked, alarmed.

"Oh, no. Not ill," said Marie sepulchrally. "But last night he broke his leash, and by the time we discovered him, he had eaten half Mama's begonias. I've got him locked in the coal cellar, and Mama's upstairs having a headache. I think you had better come round and bring a new leash."

Cursing animals in general and tapirs in particular, I leapt into a taxi and fled round to Marie's, pausing on the way to buy fourteen pots of the finest begonias I could procure. I found Claudius, covered with coal-dust, meditatively chewing a leaf. I reprimanded him, put on his new and stronger leash (strong enough, one would have thought, to hold a dinosaur*), wrote a note of apology to Mrs. Rodriguez, and left, Marie having promised to get in touch immediately should anything further transpire. The next morning she rang me again.

"Gerry? Good morning." "Good morning. Everything all right?"

"No," said Marie gloomily, "he's done it again. Mother has no begonias left now, and the rest of the garden looks as if a bulldozer's been at work. I think he will have to have a chain, you know."

"Dear God," I groaned, "what with the Aduana and this bloody tapir,* it's enough to drive one to drink. All right, I'll come round and bring a chain."

Once more I arrived at the Rodriguez establishment carrying a chain that could have been used to anchor the Queen Mary,* and bearing another herbaceous border in pots. Claudius was enchanted with the chain. He found it tasted very nice if sucked loudly, and better still, it made a loud and tuneful rattling if he jerked his head up and down, a noise that suggested there was a small iron-foundry at work in the Rodriguez garden. I left hurriedly before Mrs. Rodriguez came down to ascertain the cause of the noise. Marie phoned me the following morning.

"Gerry? Good morning."

"Good morning," I said, with a strong premonition that it was going to turn out to be anything but a good morning.

"I'm afraid Mama says you will have to move Claudius," said Marie.

"What's he done now?" I asked in exasperation.

"Well," said Marie, with the faintest tremor of mirth in her voice, "Mama gave a dinner party last night. Just as we had all sat down there was a terrible noise in the garden. Claudius had managed to get his chain loose from the railings, I don't know how. Anyway, before we could do anything sensible he burst in through the French windows, dragging his chain behind him."

"Good God!" I said, startled.. "Yes," said Marie, starting to giggle helplessly, "it was so funny. All the guests leaping about, quite terrified, while Claudius ran round and round the table, clanking his chain like a spectre. Then he got frightened at all the noise and did a… you know… a decoration on the floor."

"Dear Heaven," I groaned, for I knew what Claudius could do in the way of "decoration" when he put his mind to it.*

"So Mama's dinner was ruined, and she says she is very sorry, but could you move him. She feels that he is not happy in the garden, and that anyway, he's not a very simpatico* animal."

'Your mother is, I presume, upstairs having a headache?"

"I think it's a bit more than a headache," said Marie judiciously.

"O.K.," I sighed, "leave it to me. I'll think of something."

This, however, appeared to be the last of a series of bedevilments we had suffered, for suddenly everything seemed to go right. The Customs released my equipment, and, more important still, I suddenly found not only a home for Claudius, but the rest of the animals as well: a small house on the outskirts of Buenos Aires had been lent to us to keep our collection in as a temporary measure.