This page needs to be proofread.
iron-grated windows opened onto the sunken area by the front door of the shop. He gave a low growl, and seemed uneasy.
"What is it, Bock?" said Roger placidly, finishing his pipe.
Bock gave a short, sharp bark, with a curious note of protest in it. But Roger's mind was still with Burton.
"Rats?" he said. "Aye, very likely! This is Ratisbon, old man, but don't bark about it. Incident of the French Camp: 'Smiling, the rat fell dead.'"
Bock paid no heed to this persiflage, but prowled the front end of the cellar, looking upward in curious agitation. He growled again, softly.
"Shhh," said Roger gently. "Never mind the rats, Bock. Come on, we'll stoke up the fire and go to bed. Lord, it's one o'clock."
