There were two of them and they came in a roadster. They stopped at the gate and marched truculently up to the front door.
Arthur came hopping around from the back just as they knocked thunderously.
He'd been back there digging up a few incipient cabbages of Thomas' planting, to see why they didn't grow faster.
He soared at least an easy thirty feet, and propped himself on his tail to look interestedly at the visitors.
"G-good God!" said the short, squat officer.
He had been smoking a cigarette.
He threw it down and grabbed his gun.
That was his mistake.
Arthur liked cigarettes.
This one was a mere fifteen feet from him.
He soared toward it.
The government man squawked, seeing Arthur in mid-air and heading straight for him.
Arthur looked rather alarming, just then.
The officer fired recklessly, missing Arthur.
And Arthur remained calm.
To him, the shots were not threats.
They were merely the noises made by an automobile whose carburetor needed adjustment.
He landed blandly, almost on the officer's toes—and the officer attacked him hysterically with fist and clubbed gun.
Arthur was an amiable kangaroo, but he resented the attack, actively.
The short, squat officer squawked again as Arthur grabbed him with his forepaws.
His companion backed against the door, prepared to sell his life dearly.
But then—and the two things happened at once—while Arthur proceeded to kick the living daylights out of the short, squat officer, Thomas resignedly opened the door behind the other and he fell backward suddenly and knocked himself cold against the doorstep.
Some fifteen minutes later the short, squat officer said gloomily:
"It was a bum steer.
Thanks for pulling that critter off me, and Casey's much obliged for the drinks.
But we're hunting a bunch of counterfeiters that have been turning out damn good phony bills.
The line led straight to you.
You could have shot us. You didn't.
So we got to do the work all over."
"I'm afraid," admitted Pete, "the trail would lead right back.
Perhaps, as government officials, you can do something about the fourth-dimensional demonstrator.
That's the guilty party.
I'll show you." He led the way to the laboratory.
Arthur appeared, looking vengeful.
The two officers looked apprehensive.
"Better give him a cigarette," said Pete.
"He eats them.
Then he'll be your friend for life."
"Hell, no!" said the short, squat man.
"You keep between him and me!
Maybe Casey'll want to get friendly."
"No cigarettes," said Casey apprehensively.
"Would a cigar do?"
"Rather heavy, for so early in the morning," considered Pete, "but you might try."
Arthur soared. He landed within two feet of Casey.
Casey thrust a cigar at him.
Arthur sniffed at it and accepted it.
He put one end in his mouth and bit off the tip.
"There!" said Pete cheerfully.
"He likes it.