"Okay," I said. "Okay." And then I hung up and looked around for my hat. My visit wasn't going to be any fun, I knew. But what the 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 sounds rats make, and those aren't rat sounds." Stoddard sat bolt upright. "What?" he demanded indignantly. "Do you mean to sit there and tell me--" "I do," I cut in. "Ever heard rat noises?" Stoddard looked at his wife. Both of them frowned. He looked back at me. "No-o," he admitted slowly. "That is, not until we got these rats. Never had rats before."