Small Voice. In St. Louis, when police asked John Shannon whether he had broken a window of the Supreme Poultry & Fish Co. and stolen a duck, he retorted: "I don't know a thing about it," was contradicted by a loud quack from inside his shirt.

Sangfroid. In San Francisco, Edward Datche, resolutely keeping cool after crashing his automobile into one parked car and careening into another, nonchalantly lighted a cigarette, then flipped it into a pool of gasoline, which flamed and set fire to one of the three vehicles as well as two other cars.

Sunday Hunch. In South Bend, Ind., after announcing that his sermon topic for the following Sunday would be "Who Was the Criminal?", the Rev. Erwin Gaede retired to his study, found that $48 had been stolen.

A Quick One. In Danbury, Conn., Irving Parks, complaining in court of his neighbor's over-neighborliness, testified that Charles Romaine had stopped him on a downtown street, invited him into a tavern for a drink, and, when he hesitated, tapped him on the head with an iron bar and poked him with a knife.

The Cat Got Away. In York, Me., Mrs. Sally Cook reached into a box on the back porch for a stone to throw at a bothersome cat, scooped up, instead, jewels that had disappeared three years before.

Music Appreciation. In San Marino, Calif., Eakle Wesley Cartwright Jr., 22, who was charged with setting fire to his family's house three times in a single week, surprised firemen on each occasion by calmly sitting in the living room playing classical records, explained to police: "Beethoven thrills me."

Footloose. In Sweetwater, Texas, Dill Pace reported that pranksters, in a month-long series of raids, had stolen one shoe from each of his 15 pairs.

Guestwork. In Kalamazoo, Mich., after police refused Harvey Bogema's plea to book him for drunkenness and give him shelter in the city jail, he came back three hours later, sneaked into an unlocked cell, fell asleep while smoking and set fire to the mattress, was sheltered in the county jail for the next 15 days.

Playing It Safe. In Columbus, Ohio, State Treasurer Roger Tracy was inclined to agree with the man who sent him $220 and an anonymous letter from Jamestown, Tenn., reading: "I am a World War I veteran. I don't know just how long I was in Ohio before I joined the Army, but I drew a little bonus, and I did not make any untrue statement to get it, but I am returning it. I guess you think I'm crazy. Well maybe I am."

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