'Father said so.

I wouldn't go in, if I were you.' But the policeman was quite stony; nothing any one said seemed to make any difference to him.

Some policemen are like this, I believe.

He strode down the passage, and in another moment he would have been in the room with all the cats and all the rats (musk), but at that very instant a thin, sharp voice screamed from the street outside-- 'Murder--murder! Stop thief!' The policeman stopped, with one regulation boot heavily poised in the air.
'Eh ?' he said.
And again the shrieks sounded shrilly and piercingly from the dark street outside.
'Come on,' said Robert.

'Come and look after cats while somebody's being killed outside.' For Robert had an inside feeling that told him quite plainly WHO it was that was screaming.
'You young rip,' said the policeman, 'I'll settle up with you bimeby.' And he rushed out, and the children heard his boots going weightily along the pavement, and the screams also going along, rather ahead of the policeman; and both the murder-screams and the policeman's boots faded away in the remote distance.
Then Robert smacked his knickerbocker loudly with his palm, and said-- 'Good old Phoenix! I should know its golden voice anywhere.' And then every one understood how cleverly the Phoenix had caught at what Robert had said about the real work of a policeman being to look after murderers and thieves, and not after cats, and all hearts were filled with admiring affection.
'But he'll come back,' said Anthea, mournfully, 'as soon as it finds the murderer is only a bright vision of a dream, and there isn't one at all really.' 'No he won't,' said the soft voice of the clever Phoenix, as it flew in.