We spy an odd stranger in the slow train to town.
His muffler’s pulled far up; his hat is pulled far down.
Dark spectacles are perched on his pointed nose.
His whiskers are quite long; he holds his paper close.
His Inverness hangs straight, thin like a needle spire.
His spine is something lax; he shifts like bending wire.
The train collector shows; a ticket is produced.
in tiny hand engulfed by woolen sleeve well-loosed.
What is the sir’s last stop? His voice is low yet known.
We rush to drop a pane before the goose is flown.
A stripping wind blows in; the fiend makes to escape
He wobbles on his feet; his coat flaps like a cape.
A gust soon lays it bare, without glasses, coat, or hat:
ten minion mice supporting Ratigan the Rat!

There goes the mastermind! His crew's left to face the tune.
By open window his flight, vanished by afternoon!
A dark plan is thwarted, a vile scheme postponed,
until the next is hatched and new disguise is honed!