“Well, well,” he said; “perhaps I am a bit of a talker. A popular fellow such as I am⁠—my friends get round me⁠—we chaff, we sparkle, we tell witty stories⁠—and somehow my tongue gets wagging. I have the gift of conversation. I’ve been told I ought to have a salon, whatever that may be. Never mind. Go on, Badger. How’s this passage of yours going to help us?”

“I’ve found out a thing or two lately,” continued the Badger. “I got Otter to disguise himself as a sweep and call at the backdoor with brushes over his shoulder, asking for a job. There’s going to be a big banquet tomorrow night. It’s somebody’s birthday⁠—the Chief Weasel’s, I believe⁠—and all the weasels will be gathered together in the dining-hall, eating and drinking and laughing and carrying on, suspecting nothing. No guns, no swords, no sticks, no arms of any sort whatever!”

“But the sentinels will be posted as usual,” remarked the Rat.