Always, just inches or feet away from man, running through
sewers, hiding in woodpiles, freight-cars, ships, barns,
slaughter-house, skulking down black alleys, listening, hiding,
stealing, always listening. Yes, rats know about man, but rats had never known a man like Erd
Neff, a man who hated all mankind. A man who chose a rat for a
companion in preference to one of his own kind. Rats named John
learned about Neff. They learned that his tones and inflections had
specific meaning. They learned very fast under the stabbing prod of
the marshmallow fork. With just enough food to keep them alive, their
blind ferocity changed into painful attention. They learned to squeak
and squawk and form the sounds into a pattern with their motile
tongues. In weeks and months, they learned what the human brat learned
in years. "Stand up like a goddamned man!" *       *       *       *       *

John stood up, his tail the third point of the support. "Say the alphabet." "Eh--bih--fih--dih--ih--eff--jih--etch--"

Neff lit a cigar and watched the smoke float away from the ceiling
blower and vanish into the overhead vent in the far corner. He bobbed
one foot in time to the squeaky rhythm of the recitation. He took no
exception to John's failure with "I," "s", and "z". The other Johns
had been unable to handle them, too. "Hungrih, Neff. Hungrih!" The big man picked out three grains of wheat. He noticed the can was
almost empty. One by one he handed the kernels to his pet, waiting for
John's "Tinkoo!" in between. "Mur! Mur!" "Lazy tongue! It's _more_, not mur!" John dropped to all fours and retreated. Usually Neff slapped him in
the belly when he used that tone. But Neff was bemused tonight. He
kept listening for sounds, sounds that he knew could never penetrate
the thick walls. They were out there, he was sure. Another damned fool or two, flashing
a light around, trying to figure out something. Neff remembered one
pair who had even tried nitroglycerin. He saw the burns on the outside
of the door the next morning. Amateurs! Nobody knew for sure just how much money Neff kept in the
old desk, and big-time pros wouldn't tackle a job like this without a
pretty fair notion of the loot. For all they knew, maybe he mailed it
to an out-of-town bank. "Okay, fetch the pencil." John jumped from the desk and moved toward the open door of the
shower-stall where Neff had thrown the pencil stub. He paused by the
wheat can, then scurried on to get the pencil. He climbed Neff's leg
and dropped the pencil into the open palm. "Smart punks up at State College. So you can't teach a rat anything
but mazes and how to go nuts from electric shocks, eh? Wouldn't they
be surprised to meet you, John?" "Hungrih!" "You're always hungry!" "Meat! Meat!" "Yeah. You can sound your "e's" real good when you say, 'meat.' Some
day I'll cut off your tail and feed it to you." He laughed, grabbed
John by the coarse hair of his back and slipped him back under the
cage. Then he undressed down to his underwear, turned out the light and lay
on the narrow iron bed. John rustled in his cage for a minute, then
there was only the faint hum of the blower and sucker motors in the
ventilating system. The incoming and outgoing air was baffled and
trapped to kill sounds, and spring-loaded sliding doors poised to jam
shut and seal off the room if anyone tampered with the exterior
grilles in the roof. The fans hummed softly and Erd Neff slept. _Sleck-thud, sleck-thud!_

       *       *       *       *       *

He was awake pawing the wall for the light switch, but even as his
hand found it, and his eyes discovered the closed ventilator doors, a
reddish vapor sank over his body. A single gasp and Neff was clawing
his throat. Sharp, brown-tasting, acid-burning, eye-searing,
nose-stinging! He fell to his knees and clawed to the far corner, fighting for air,
but the acrid stink stained his throat and nose. His eyes kept
burning. The whole room must be full! The door-lever! No, that's what they wanted. Blind! Gun's no good now. God, for a breath of air! Damned tears! Can't open my eyes! Air! _Got
to have it!_

His throat refused to open. The stink, a little like iodine, a lot
like a hospital smell but a million times stronger--raked at the
tender tissues of his throat. Icepicks stabbed from his soft palate,
up into his brain, his temples. He swayed against the door, caught the
lever and heaved convulsively. The door fell away slowly. He stumbled
forward, gashing his knee against the sharp jamb. A light struck redly through his clenched, tear-soaked eye-lids. "That did it. Get the gun!" The voice was high, almost girlish. A
young boy? A slightly heavier voice said, "Got it. Keep an eye on him while I
find out why the fan stopped working." "He's going no place. You were right. That bromine stuff really did
the business. Lookit his face. Sure it won't kill him?" "Don't care if it does now. We got the door open." "What is this bromine, anyhow? Boy it sure stinks!" "It's a chemical element like chlorine, only it's a liquid. It fumes
if you don't keep it covered with water, and the fumes really get you. They used it in gas bombs in the war." "That was chlorine." "They used bromine, too. I read it." "Air!" Neff rasped. "Help yourself if you call this stinkin' stuff in your warehouse air." From the vault the deadened voice came. "This must be the switch. The
other switch is for the lights." "Look out! When you turn it on don't get dosed yourself." "I only dumped a few drops in. There. It'll blow out in a few--phew,
let me outta here. That stuff does--God, it's worse than the dose I
got in the chem lab!" The voice grew, coughing and cursing. "Better
wait a minute or two. How's our big brave dog-killer doing?" On his hands and knees, Neff was on the verge of passing out, but
doggedly he tried to place the voices. Highschool kids? _Bromine._
Sounded like a chemical they might filch from the highschool
laboratory. A kick in the ribs reminded him he was still helpless. "All right, get
back in there." They aimed him through the vault door and kept kicking
him until he went. They hauled him up into his chair. He tried to
strike out blindly, but his chest was full of licking flames that
spread pain out to his shoulders. Now rope whipped around his feet, hands, chest and neck, jerking his
body hard against the castered desk-chair and cramping his head back. "Tie him good. No way to lock him in with this door." Neff opened his eyes. The boys were wet blurs rummaging through his
desk. "Look! Just look at that! We can't carry all that." "Get one of those burlap sacks out there. By the door." Footsteps went and returned. "Now, just the small bills. Up to twenty. No, Jerry, leave the big stuff alone. Who'd take one from a kid?" "Okay, let's make tracks." "Wait!" Neff said desperately. "My legs and hands. You've cut off the
circulation!" *       *       *       *       *

Something hard like the barrel of a gun rapped down on the top of his
head.