e hell. I had to
admit that if Stoddard and his wife were hearing noises that sounded
like rats, they had a legitimate squawk. For I built the house, and no
amount of crazy ideas in its design by Stoddard could explain the
presence of vermin.

* * * * *

Both the Stoddards met me at the door when I arrived out in the Mayfair
subdivision where I'd built their monstrosity. As they led me into the
living room, I caught a pretty good idea of their new home furnishings.
They hadn't changed ideas, even to the mixing of a wild mess of various
nations and periods in the junk they'd placed all around the house.

They led me past an early American library table to a deep Moroccan
style couch, and both pulled up chairs of French and Dutch design before
me.

Feeling thus surrounded by a small little circle of indignation, I began
turning my hat around in my hands, staring uncomfortably at my
surroundings.

"Nice place you've got here," I said.

"We know that," Stoddard declared, dismissing banalities. "But we'd best
get immediately to the point."

"About the rats?" I asked.

"About the rats," said Stoddard. His wife nodded emphatically.

There was a silence. Maybe a minute passed. I cleared my throat.

"I thought you--" I began.

"Shhhh!" Stoddard hissed. "I want you to sit here and hear the noises,
just as we have. Then you can draw your own conclusions. Silence,
please."

So I didn't say a word, and neither did mine hosts. We sat there like
delegates to a convention of mutes who were too tired to use their
hands. This time the silence seemed even more ominous.

Several minutes must have passed before I began to hear the sounds. That
was because I'd been listening for rat scrapings, and not prepared for
the noises I actually began to hear.

Mr. and Mrs. Stoddard had their heads cocked to one side, and were
staring hard at me, waiting for a sign that I was catching the sounds.

At first the noises seemed faint, blurred perhaps, like an almost
inaudible spattering of radio static. Then, as I adjusted my ear to
them, I began to get faint squeaks, and small, sharp noises that were
like far distant poppings of small firecrackers.

I looked up at the Stoddards.

"Okay," I admitted. "I hear the noises. They seem to be coming from
behind the walls, if anywhere."

Stoddard looked smugly triumphant.

"I told you so," he smirked.

"But they aren't rat scrapings," I said. "I know the s