"The police raided it last night! It's a disorderly house!" "What!" "They planted one of their men, got a warrant, and knocked the place off." Qwilleran sat down unexpectedly as his knees folded. "But the decorator told me — " "How did this happen? Where did you get the tip on this — this house?" "From the decorator. From Mrs. Middy, a nice little motherly woman. She specializes in — well — residences for girls. Dormitories, that is, and sorority houses. And this was supposed to be a high-class boardinghouse for professional girls." "Professional is the word!" said Percy. "This is going to make us look like a pack of fools. Wait till the Morning Rampage plays it up." Qwilleran gulped. "I don't know what to say." "There's nothing we can do about it now, but you'd better get hold of that Mrs. Biddy — " "Middy." " — whatever she calls herself — and let her know exactly how we feel about this highly embarrassing incident….

It's an incredible situation per se, and on the heels of the Muggy Swamp mess it's too much!" Percy hung up, and Qwilleran's stunned mind tried to remember how it had happened. There must be an explanation. Then he grabbed the telephone and dialed a number.

"Yes?" said a sleepy voice.

"Cokey!" said Qwilleran sternly. "Have you heard the news?" "What news? I'm not awake yet." "Well, wake up and listen to me! Mrs. Middy has got me in a jam. Why didn't you tip me off?" "About what?" "About Mrs. Allison's place." Cokey yawned. "What about Mrs. Allison's place?" "You mean you don't know?" "What are you talking about? You don't make sense." Qwilleran found himself with a death grip on the receiver. He took a deep breath. "I've just been notified that the police raided Mrs. Allison's so-called residence for professional girls last night…. It's a brothel! Did you know that?" Cokey shrieked. "Oh, Qwill, what a hoot!" "Did you know the nature of Mrs. Allison's house?" His voice was gruff.

"No, but I think the idea's a howl!" "Well, I don't think it's a howl, and the Daily Fluxion doesn't think it's a howl. It makes us look like saps. How can I get hold of Mrs. Middy?" Cokey's voice sobered. "You want to call her?

Yourself? Now?… Oh, don't do that!" "Why not?" "That poor woman! She'll drop dead from mortification. " "Didn't she know what kind of establishment she was furnishing?" Qwilleran demanded.

"I'm sure she didn't. She's a genius at doing charming interiors, but she's rather…" "Rather what?" "Muddleheaded, you know. Please don't call her," Cokey pleaded. "Let me break the news gently. You don't want to kill the woman, do you?" "I feel like killing somebody!" Cokey burst into laughter again. "And in Early American!" she shrieked. "With all those Tom Jones beds!" Qwilleran banged the receiver down. "Now what?" he said to Koko. He paced the floor for a few minutes and then snatched the telephone and dialed another number.

"Hi!" said a childish treble.

"Let me talk to Odd Bunsen," said Qwilleran.

"Hi!" said the little voice.

"Is Odd Bunsen there?" "Hi!" "Who is this? Where's your father? Go and get your father!" "Hi!" Qwilleran snorted and was about to slam the receiver down when his partner came on the line." "That was our youngest," Bunsen said. "He's not much for conversation. What's on your mind this morning?" Qwilleran broke the news and listened to an assortment of croaking noises as the photographer reacted wordlessly.

The newsman said with a sarcastic edge to his voice: "I just wanted you to know that you may get your wish. You hoped the magazine would fold! And these two incidents in succession may be enough to kill it." "Don't blame me," said Bunsen. "I just take the pictures. I don't even get a credit line." "Two issues of Gracious Abodes and two mishaps! It can't be accidental. I'm beginning to smell a rat." "You don't mean the competition!" "Who else?" "The Rampage hasn't got the guts to try any dirty work." "I know, but they've got a guy working for them who might try to pull something. You know that loudmouth in their Circulation Department? He played on their softball team, you told me." "You mean Mike Bulmer?" Bunsen said. "He's a creep!" "The first time I noticed him at the Press Club, I recognized the face, but it took me a long time to place it. I finally remembered him. He was mixed up in a circulation war in Chicago a few years back — a bloody affair. And now he's working at the Rampage. I'll bet he suggested the raid on the Allison house to the police, and I'll bet the Vice Squad was only too happy to act. You know how it is; every time the Fluxion editorial writers run out of ideas, they start sniping at the Vice Squad." Qwilleran tamped his moustache, and added, "I hate to say this, but I've got a nasty feeling that Cokey may be involved." "Who?" "This girl I've been dating. Works for Mrs. Middy. It was Cokey who suggested publishing Mrs. Allison's house, and now I've found out that she knows Bulmer. She said hello to him at the Press Club the other night." "No law against that," Bunsen said.

"It was the way she said it! And the look she gave him!… There's something else, too," Qwilleran began with evident reluctance. "After the party at David Lyke's last night, I brought Cokey back to my apartment — " "Ho HO! This is beginning to sound interesting." " — and Koko tried to bite her." "What was she doing to him?" "She wasn't doing a thing! She was on the — she was minding her own business when Koko made a pass at her head. He's never done a thing like that before. I'm beginning to think he was trying to tell me something." There was silence at the other end of the line. "Are you listening?" "I'm listening. I'm lighting a cigar." "You get remarkably detached when you're home in Happy View Woods on Sunday. I should think you'd be more concerned about this mess." "What mess?" Bunsen said. "I think the Allison thing is a practical joke. It's sort of funny." "The half-million-dollar theft wasn't funny!" "Well," Bunsen drawled, "Bulmer wouldn't go that far!" "He might! Don't forget, there's a million dollars' worth of advertising involved. He might see a chance to make himself a nice bonus." "And victimize an innocent man just to knife the competition?… Naw! You've seen too many old movies." "Maybe Tait wasn't victimized," Qwilleran said slowly. "Maybe he was in on the deal." "Brother, you're really flying high this morning." "Goodbye," said Qwilleran. "Sorry I bothered you. Go back to your peaceful family scene." "Peaceful!" said Bunsen. "Did you say peaceful? I'm painting the basement, and Tommy just fell in the paint bucket, and Linda threw a rag doll down the john, and Jimmy fell off the porch and blacked his eyes. You call that peaceful?" When Qwilleran left the telephone, he wandered aimlessly through the apartment. He glanced at the shaggy rug in the living room and angrily scuffed up the pile to erase the imprint. In the kitchen he found Koko sitting on the big ragged dictionary. The cat sat tall, with forefeet pulled in close, tail curled around tightly, head cocked. Qwilleran was in no mood for games, but Koko stared at him, waiting for an affirmative.

"All right, we'll playa few innings," Qwilleran said with a sigh. He slapped the book — the starting signal — and Koko dug into the edge with the claws of his left paw.

Qwilleran flipped the pages to the spot Koko indicated — page 1102. "Hummock and hungerly," he read. "Those are easy. Find a couple of hard ones." The cat grabbed again.

"Feed and feeling. Two more points for me." Koko crouched in great excitement and sank his claws.

"May queen and meadow mouse," said Qwilleran, and all at once he remembered that neither he nor Koko had eaten breakfast.

As the man chopped fresh beef for the cat and warmed it in a little canned consomm‚, he remembered something else: In a recent game Koko had come up with the same page twice. It had happened within the last week. Twice in one game Koko had found sacroiliac and sadism. Qwilleran felt a curious tingling sensation in his moustache.