He walked toward the door, but started back before he reached it, and pointing to the floor, asked,
"What do you call that, Wigg? Is that a deloosion!"
Constable Wigg advanced, looked down, rubbed his eyes, looked down again, and answered,
"I'm bound to say there's no mistaking the color. Have you got any red ochre in the house, ma'am?"
"Not a bit," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "as I knows on."
"These," said Constable Nightingale, kneeling, and examining the floor, "are marks of the cat's paws, and they're red. Look for yourself, Wigg."
"There's no denying it," said the baffled Wigg.
"You're on duty here, Wigg."
"What do you advise, Nightingale? You've been longer in the force than me."
"It's got to be looked into by somebody. It ain't for me to do it, because I'm out of my beat, and I don't want to be made an example of. Would you oblige me by going to the door and giving the alarm?"