"It's no use threatening him," Marc interrupted. "He's got the advantage. He's just hanging around waiting for me to be killed. And he'll probably have his way before they're done with us."
In answer, a stifled yawn echoed from somewhere in back of them. Toffee whirled about.
"Listen to him!" she fumed. "Now he's rubbing it in! That was the most put-on yawn I ever heard."
She started forward, but Marc put out a hand to stop her. He drew her toward the corner.
"Listen," he said in lowered tones, "I've just thought of something. Maybe we can trap him."
"We certainly should be able to," Toffee agreed hotly. "George is pure rat, through and through. If we only had some cheese...."
"What about whiskey?" Marc asked. "There's plenty of it here, and where George is concerned it's the best bait in the world."
"I wonder why he hasn't been at it already?" Toffee said, surveying the crates along the walls. "The place is practically seething with the stuff."
"He's too smart," Marc said. "He doesn't want to show where he is. By the time he opened a crate and got the bottle out we'd have him located. He's afraid we'd slug him."
"Of course we'd slug him," Toffee said. "I personally intend to bop the living bejesus out of him at the very first opportunity. What difference does that make?"