“Say,” he said, “how did you know about that cat?”
“Saw his footprints,” I replied. “They were all over the scheme. And your friend Keene purred too loud.”
“I don't mean that. Keene was a fool; that was plain enough for anyone to see. I had to use him; if Barclay hadn't been sick it might have been different. But how did you come to send me that message about the butter? Man, that is one of my favorite sayings—the choking the cat thing! How did you know that? I never said it to you.”
“Oh, it is an old saying. I have heard it often; and it did seem to fit in this case. I imagined you would understand and appreciate.”
“Um—yes,” dryly. “I appreciated all right. As to understanding—well, I'll understand later on. That's another little conundrum for me to work out. Somebody's been talking, of course. Here! hold on!” as I was walking away: “Don't go. I want to talk to you.”
He characteristically did not ask whether or not I wanted to talk to him, but, as I happened to be in no hurry, I stopped and waited for him to continue. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked me over, very much as he might have looked over a horse he was thinking of buying.
“Paine,” he said, suddenly, “do you want to go to work?”
“Work?” I repeated. “I am at work already.”
“You've got a job, such as it is. It might be work for the average jay, but it isn't for you. I'll give you something to work at—yes, and work for.”
I stared at him in wondering suspicion.