“Yet if any one told you you hadn’t the sense of a policeman, you’d resent it.”
“Of course, I would!”
“Well, Jimmy McCue, the night special, who patrols past the corner, saw that very thing happen a few nights ago at the Sterriter Building. Knowing that rats don’t go out at midnight for a saunter, two dozen strong, he began to suspect.”
“Suspect what?” growled Spofford.
“That there must be some abnormal cause for so abnormal a proceeding. Think, now, Algy.”
“I’ve heard of rats leavin’ a sinkin’ ship. The building might have been sinkin’,” suggested the visitor hopefully.
“Is that the best you can do? I’ll give you one more try.”
“I know,” said Spofford. “A cat.”
“On my soul,” declared Average Jones, gazing at his club-mate with increased interest, “you’re the most remarkable specimen of inverted mentality I’ve ever encountered. D’you think a cat habitually rounds up two dozen rats and then chivies ’em out into the street for sport? McCue didn’t have any cat theory. He figured that when rats come out of a place that way the place is afire. So he turned in an alarm and saved a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar building.”
“Umph!” grunted Spofford. “Well, what’s that got to do with the advertisement I brought you?”