This was a danger of which the children had not thought.
‘Creep in,’ cried Robert, opening his jacket.
And the Phoenix crept in--only just in time, for green eyes had glared, pink noses had sniffed, white whiskers had twitched, and as Robert buttoned his coat he disappeared to the waist in a wave of eager grey Persian fur. And on the instant the good carpet slapped itself down on the floor. And it was covered with rats--three hundred and ninety-eight of them, I believe, two for each cat.
‘How horrible!’ cried Anthea. ‘Oh, take them away!’
‘Take yourself away,’ said the Phoenix, ‘and me.’
‘I wish we’d never had a carpet,’ said Anthea, in tears.
They hustled and crowded out of the door, and shut it, and locked it. Cyril, with great presence of mind, lit a candle and turned off the gas at the main.
‘The rats’ll have a better chance in the dark,’ he said.
The mewing had ceased. Every one listened in breathless silence. We all know that cats eat rats--it is one of the first things we read in our little brown reading books; but all those cats eating all those rats--it wouldn’t bear thinking of.
Suddenly Robert sniffed, in the silence of the dark kitchen, where the only candle was burning all on one side, because of the draught.
And as he spoke, a lantern flashed its light through the window of the kitchen, a face peered in, and a voice said--
‘What’s all this row about? You let me in.’
Robert tip-toed to the window, and spoke through the pane that had been a little cracked since Cyril accidentally knocked it with a walking-stick when he was playing at balancing it on his nose. (It was after they had been to a circus.)
‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘There’s no row. You listen; everything’s as quiet as quiet.’ And indeed it was.
The strange sweet scent grew stronger, and the Phoenix put out its beak.
‘They’re MUSK-rats,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I suppose some cats eat them--but never Persian ones. What a mistake for a well-informed carpet to make! Oh, what a night we’re having!’
‘Do go away,’ said Robert, nervously. ‘We’re just going to bed--that’s our bedroom candle; there isn’t any row. Everything’s as quiet as a mouse.’
A wild chorus of mews drowned his words, and with the mews were mingled the shrieks of the musk-rats. What had happened? Had the cats tasted them before deciding that they disliked the flavour?