“It’s different,” Mrs. Beloit said.
“Very,” Griffin conceded. “It’s amazing that there could be so many differences between this mouse and all of the others we know about, with no intermediate steps, no gradual development.”
A short laugh, more of a snort, from Mrs. Beloit kept Harmon from continuing immediately.
“Just look at all the trouble I had to get anyone to pay any attention to the mouse I had,” she said. “If I wasn’t so mule-headed, you wouldn’t know about this one. And in this neighborhood, most folks wouldn’t care. They wouldn’t go asking questions, even if they noticed that the mouse was so different.”
“There is that,” Harmon allowed with a grin.
“Tell me again, just what is it you want to do here?” Mrs. Beloit asked. “I want to make sure I know exactly what it is, so’s there’s no confusion.”
“We want to survey your home from top to bottom, look for any possible routes that mice could use to get in and out. We want to set traps to try to capture some of these elephantnosed mice alive. If there are any more of them—and I hope there are. We’ve got some special equipment, cameras and sound gear, to let us probe in the walls, floors, and ceilings without doing any damage. We have fiber-optic lens cables we can hook up to a video camera.”
“Like they use in operations?” Mrs. Beloit asked.
“Yes, exactly.”
“I work as a nurse’s aide at the hospital,” Mrs. Beloit explained. “I know about those.”
“And the sound gear we have is really just an electronic version of a stethoscope,” Nick Peragamos volunteered.
“We also have a couple of video cameras that can see in infrared to take pictures in the dark. They’re triggered by motion detectors, so they can be left on overnight to cover possible routes that the mice might take, without running out of tape or needing someone to change the tapes every two hours.”
“This equipment, it’s expensive?” Mrs. Beloit asked.
“Moderately,” Griffin said.
“And you’ve got it out in that van now?”
The professor nodded.
“This isn’t the worst neighborhood in Chicago, but it sure isn’t the best,” Mrs. Beloit said. “Maybe you should bring your gear in before too many people get a chance to nose around that van.” She was moderately concerned that the equipment would not even be safe inside her house if too many people knew that it was there, but Professor Griffin had signed a waiver absolving her from all responsibility for theft of the equipment.
“I must confess that there’s a strong chance that we’ll be wasting our time and abusing your generous hospitality, Mrs. Beloit,” Harmon said once the last of the equipment had been moved inside. “It’s most likely that the mouse you caught is the only one of its kind, a freak, what we call a sport, and not part of a breeding population.”
She nodded slowly and, after a long pause, said, “I’ve got mixed feelings on that, Professor. On the one hand, I’d like to think that I got rid of the only mouse in my home, but on the other hand, one dead and rotted mouse won’t do you any good.”
“Not as much as living specimens… or even dead ones that were still fresh enough to allay any doubts,” he said. He had mentioned the first dead mouse to several colleagues, and had enlisted the help of a pair of them in running the tests on its remains. They were curious but skeptical.
“More of them would be… extremely important,” Harmon said. “There are still arguments about just how evolution and the start of new species work. Some of my colleagues think that evolution is a constant, cumulative process, a lot of little changes eventually reaching a point where there is a new species. Others argue for what they call ‘punctuated equilibrium,’ that we keep the same species most of the time with only those little, inconsequential changes for ages and ages. But then, occasionally, there is a sudden spate of a lot of major changes, new species, in response to major changes in their environment.”
Marietta Beloit watched Griffin closely through that explanation, nodding several times. “I remember some of that from school,” she conceded. “I guess I never really thought it out before though. If there are more mice like the one I caught, it would argue for this punctuated equilibrium?”
“Very loudly,” Harmon said. “And it would lead to searches for other new species, and professors scurrying to patch the holes in their theories—give a lot of scientists and a lot of graduate students new work to do.”
Harmon Griffin had spent one of his undergraduate summers working for an exterminator. He knew how to conduct the necessary search. Now, Cathy and Nick did most of the work, moving furniture, crawling behind it, emptying cabinets and searching inside, looking for avenues that mice or other pests might use to get in and out. The obvious routes were found quickly, under the kitchen sink and under both bathroom vanities. The plumbers had left gaps around the in let and waste lines, plenty of room for mice—or rats. And behind the kitchen sink there was one larger opening where a section of drywall had been broken out. That hole was seven inches wide and six high.
There was an attic above, but without a ladder to climb up, it had to be left, at least for the moment.
“Is there a basement?” Griffin asked Mrs. Beloit.
“No, just a crawlspace,” she said. “The access panel is out back, next to the kitchen door.”
There was a heavy metal panel over the opening, secured by a padlock. Mrs. Beloit had to go back into the house to get a key, and Nick went with her to get two flashlights from their gear.
“We’re going under there, right?” he asked the professor.
Griffin nodded.
“All three of us?” Cathy asked.
“I think Nick and I can handle it,” Harmon said.
“My children use this to store their bikes and a few other things,” Mrs. Beloit said while she unlocked the panel. “The lawn mower’s in there, too.” Under the kitchen, Harmon spotted a hole by the plumbing. Light showed. He kept crawling, stopping every couple of feet to shine his feet up along the floor joists. There were signs of rodents, droppings and so forth, and there were several holes in the packed earth he was crawling on—clearly tunnel entrances for mice or rats.
“Hey, Professor!” Nick called from the far side of the crawlspace. “Come over here. I found something.”
“What is it?”
“No, come look,” Nick urged.
Harmon sighed and started crawling across. Nick was almost at the front corner of the house, about thirty feet away.
“This better be good,” he warned. “My knees are already aching.”
“It is.” Nick moved, but not enough for Harmon to see what he had found until he was within five feet. Then Nick moved to the side and flashed his light on his discovery.
“A skeleton,” Nick said, “a cat’s skeleton, I think. There’s orange fur scattered around, but not much else.”
Harmon put his light on the bones as well. The animal’s skull had been crushed, pierced and broken into pieces. Few of the other bones were still in their proper place, but the pile of remains was fairly compact.
“It’s a cat, all right,” Harmon said.
“Look at these marks.” Nick pointed at what appeared to be scratches across several of the bones. “It looks like something had cat drumsticks for supper.”