"Now we can get on like a house on fire," said Constable Wigg. "When you winked at me, Nightingale, I didn't contradict you, but I fell a-thinking, and then what I read come to my mind. You've been out in the snow, Mrs. Middlemore, and you saw nothing but white. We've been out in the snow, ma'am, and we saw nothing but white. Not for a minute, not for five, not for ten but for hours I may say. I remember reading somewhere that when you've looked for a longish time upon nothing but white, that it's as likely as not the next thing you see will be red, never mind what the color really is. That's the way with us. The cat's been haunting me, in a manner of speaking, the whole livelong night, and what with that and the snow, and being all of a sudden shoved into darkness, the minute a light shines on the wretched thing it comes to me as red as a ball of fire; and it comes to you the same, because the snow's got into your eyes and affected your sight." "Bosh!" exclaimed Constable Nightingale. "What's that you say, Nightingale?" asked Constable Wigg. "Bosh! I didn't want to frighten Mrs. Middlemore, and that's the reason I wouldn't harp on it, but now you've raked it up again I'll have the matter settled." So saying, Constable Nightingale rose from his chair. "Where are you going?" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to find that cat," replied Constable Nightingale, "if it's in the house. If it isn't red, I give in and apologize. If it is, I shall take the liberty of saying for the third time, Bosh!" He walked toward the door, but started back before he reached it, and pointing to the floor, asked, "What do you call that, Wigg? Is that a deloosion!" Constable Wigg advanced, looked down, rubbed his eyes, looked down again, and answered, "I'm bound to say there's no mistaking the color. Have you got any red ochre in the house, ma'am?" "Not a bit," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "as I knows on." "These," said Constable Nightingale, kneeling, and examining the floor, "are marks of the cat's paws, and they're red. Look for yourself, Wigg." "There's no denying it," said the baffled Wigg. "You're on duty here, Wigg." "What do you advise, Nightingale? You've been longer in the force than me." "It's got to be looked into by somebody. It ain't for me to do it, because I'm out of my beat, and I don't want to be made an example of. Would you oblige me by going to the door and giving the alarm?" "What for?" "For me, being at a distance, to hear it. For me hearing it, to run to your assistance. Do you twig? My being on your beat must be accounted for. That will account for it." This ingenious suggestion relieved Constable Wigg's mind as well as his comrade's. "That's a good idea," he said; "and it'll account, too, for our being in the house, supposing anything should be said about it."