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.
'What a funny scent!' he said.
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.' It was the voice of the police! 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.
The policeman hesitated.
'They're MUSK-rats,' said the Phoenix.