"I'd like to get the police," said Beany.

"They are sort of used to this."

"You will not save the kid," said the Weasel. "The Wolf will
kill him at the first alarm. You can't make a sound. When you
get down in the wardrobe, you will find a nail hole in the upper
corner of the right hand door. I put that there, so I could
watch the Wolf. I have meant to bite for a long while--" He
trailed off, and nearly became unconscious. Then he gathered
himself together. "Tell him I bit."

"Say!" said Hen suddenly. He put his face close to the drooping
face of the Weasel. "Say, where's the house? You haven't told
us where to go. We got to get a move on, I should say!"

"The house--the house," he said. "It's number,--it's corner of--
it's number three hundred and one--"

"Gosh, this is awful!" said Hen. "Come, try to tell us! Three
hundred and one--what?"

The Weasel made a mighty effort.

"Number three hundred and one--" His voice trailed off into
silence.

"He's dead," said Beany.

"What shall we do?" said Hen. "He's not dead, but pretty close