Then he looked at the buttons again, and dash it, he kissed one. Maudlin—jolly maudlin, I say, if you ask me!
"I say, Dicky," he said carelessly. "You may not care for them, but I've taken rather a shine to these buttons. Mind letting me have one, eh?"
He flashed a quick glance at me and then away.
"Mind? Why, certainly not; take 'em all, old chap, and welcome." Yet I responded gloomily enough, scarcely polite, you know. And I felt too jolly prostrated to be curious as to what he could possibly want with the things. Waistcoat buttons, likely—Billings was given to loud dress and other bounder stunts. But he just sat there looking down after I spoke, and presently stole a queer glance at me.
"Dicky," he said, and paused. Then he fished out that perfectly impossible pipe of his and began to pack it, slowly shaking his head. "Dicky, anybody that would take advantage of you would lift a baby's milk gurgler."
Of course, I saw no more sense in that than you do, you know, but I understood that in his crude, vulgar way he meant some sort of a compliment.
"Dash it, of course," I said offhand, straightening up and recrossing my legs. I always say that and do that way when fellows say stupid things. Such a jolly good way to keep from hurting their feelings, you know, and saves talking and thinking. Got on to it myself.
Billings' eye ranged at me as he lighted his pipe. The smoke seemed to make him cough, and it was this, I suppose, that set him chuckling.
He suddenly held up the row of red buttons again.
"Look here, you blessed dodo," he exclaimed brusquely. "Have you really no idea what these are, these glass buttons you are yapping about? Of course you haven't, you jolly chowder head, but I'm going to tell you."
He threw the coat into my lap.
"They are rubies, old man, that's all," he said quietly. "Oriental rubies, at that—flawless and perfect—the rarest and most precious things in the world."
I stared blankly at Billings. "Rubies!" I gasped.
He nodded. "Genuine pigeon bloods, my son, no less."
"Oh, come now, Billings," I protested. I felt a little miffed, just a little you know. So jolly raw to try it on that way.
"By jove, old chap, you must think me a common ass," I suggested disgustedly.
Billings grinned at the very idea.
"Youa common ass, Dicky?" he ejaculated. "Nobody who knows you would ever think that, old man."
"But, I say—"
"See here, Dicky boy, I'm in dead earnest," he interrupted eagerly. "Don't you remember my one fad—gems? Got enough tied up in them to build two apartment houses as big as this. Best amateur collection in New York, if I do say it. But I haven't anything like one of these rubies, and neither has any one else—no one else in this country, anyhow. There's nothing like them in all New York, from Tiffany's down to Maiden Lane, and never has been. I never saw anything like—near like any of them—except the one in the Russian crown of Anna Ivanovana. That's bigger, but it hasn't the same fire."
I just laughed at him. "Why, Billings, these pajamas were sent me by a friend in China, and I assure you—"
"Assure? What can you assure—what doyouknow about it?" said Billings rudely. "What did your friend know, or the one he had these things from—or the one before him—or the one still before that? Pshaw!" And he snapped his fingers.
With his hand he swept up the little caps and the long, wirelike threads that held them and sniffed the handful curiously.
"H'm! Funky sort of aromatic smell—balsam, cedar oil or something like that," he muttered half aloud. "That accounts for the preservation. But still—"
He crossed his legs and puffed thoughtfully.
"Tell you how I figure this out, Dicky," he said finally. "These nighties your friend has sent you are awfully rare and old; and for delicate, dainty elegance and that sort of thing they've got everything else in the silk way shoved off the clothes-line. But as to these jewels, you can just bet all you've got that whoever passed them on was not wise to them being under these covers."
Here he got to looking at one of the buttons and murmuring his admiration—regular trance, you know.
"By Jove!" I remarked, just to stir him up a bit. And he unloaded a great funnel of smoke and continued:
"My theory is that during some danger, some mandarins' war, likely, somebody got cold feet about these jewels and roped them in with these bits of silk—see how different they are from the rest of the stuff! Then, when the roughhouse came, these pajamas were swept along in the sacking—sort of spoils of pillage, you know. It was a clever method of concealment—clever because simple—a hiding place unlikely to be thought of because right under the eye. You recall Poe's story ofThe Purloined Letter?"
I tried to remember. "Can't say I do, dear boy," I had to admit. "Don't seem to place that one. Only one I remember hearing him tell is that one he brought back from Paris. Let me see—The Story of the Lonely Lobster, I think he called it." I chortled delightedly as it came back to me. "By Jove, that was devilish neat! Don't know when I've ever heard—"
An offensive remark by Billings interrupted me.
"Here, Dicky, Dicky, what do you think you're talking about?" he added rudely. Evidently his mind had wandered from the subject. So I replied with dignity—dignity, with just a touch of sarcasm:
"Pogue—'Mickey' Pogue of our club. Perhaps you don't know Mickey Pogue?" And, by Jove, that fetched him! He stared at me a moment, and then, getting up, he reached over and solemnly shook me by the hand.
"Dicky," he said, wagging his head, "I apologize. You take thebrioche!" And he turned his back a second.
I asked Billings how much he thought one of the rubies was worth. I had in mind how devilish hungrily he had looked at them. But he sighed, then frowned and answered impatiently:
"That's it! That's the trouble about all the rare and beautiful things of this life! Always some debasing, prohibitive sordid money value, dammit!"
He squinted at the stones again and let the weight of one rest upon his finger. He shook his head, sighing.
"Well, they're over twenty carats each, and therefore, of course, many times the value of first water diamonds. After you get above five carats with real Oriental rubies, diamonds are not in it."
With an abrupt gesture he pushed the things away and rose. His pipe had gone out, but I noticed that he did not relight it. I held the gems full in the rays of the lamp, and Billings paused, holding a hungry gaze over his shoulder.
"I say, Billings, how much did you say one was worth?" I asked carelessly. For a moment he did not reply, but muttered to himself.
"I didn't say," he finally replied, and rather crossly. Then he whirled on me impulsively. "See here, Lightnut," he exclaimed, "if you'll let me have one of those for my collection, I'll give you twenty-five thousand for it—there!"
He gulped and continued:
"I'll have to make some sacrifices, but I don't mind that. I—"
But I shook my head. Really, I could hardly keep from laughing in his face.
"Sorry! Can't see it, old chap," I said. "Wouldn't sell one of them at any price."
Billings gulped again. "I suppose not; don't blame you. Way you're fixed, you don't have to." He walked slowly to the window and back. "Take my advice, Dicky, and get those fire coals into your safe deposit vault first thing in the morning. Hello, you're cutting them off! That's wise."
For with the knife he had left on the table I was cutting away the tough threads that held the rubies. I cut off the second and fourth, leaving the first ruby at the collar and the other two alternates.
"Go on," said Billings, as I laid down the knife. "You've only removed two."
"Don't believe I'll cut off any more," I said. "Want you to help me tie up the others just as they were."
"What!"
I insisted. And though Billings protested and argued and even called me names, we did as I said.
For, by Jove, you know it was perfectly clear that if they had been safe so long under the little covers, the jewels couldn't find any better place. Singular thing Billings couldn't see it. Besides, the pajamas had to have fastenings, you know.
I held one of the two rubies under the light, and, by Jove, I almost dropped it—did drop my glass. Seeing a red-hot poker-point in your fingers would give you the same turn.
"Rippers, Billings! Simply rippers!" I exclaimed.
I held the other ruby beside its fellow. Then I waited, listening, and I heard Billings' hand strike down on the back of a chair.
"I guess I'll be going, old chap," he said gruffly. "Think I'd better, after all." He cleared his throat. "Sure you can't sell me one, Dicky?" Dashed if his voice didn't tremble.
"Quite sure, dear boy," I murmured, without turning around. "Not mine, you know—these two."
Billings exploded then. It seemed an opportunity to relieve himself. "Not yours! Why, you dod-gasted idiot, you nincompoop, you cuckoo, you chicken head! What notion have you got in that fool's noddle now? If those rubies are not yours, whose do you think they are?"
I whirled about quickly. "Yours," I said, and laid them in his hand.
"My compliments, old chap," I added, smiling. By Jove! One time, at least, I put it all over old Billings!
"No!" he gasped, crouching over and gripping my shoulder.
I grinned cheerfully.
He fell into a chair and just sat there mouthing at me and then at the jewels in his hand. Old boy looked devilish silly. Really acted like he had some sort of stroke—that sort of thing.
I laughed at him.
"Don't you see?" I said, trying to explain. "Wouldn't have known a dashed thing about the buttons being rubies but for you. So lucky they came to me so I can get a chance to help out your collection. Awfully glad, old chap."
He clenched the jewels, and looked down.
"Dicky—" He coughed a little huskily as he paused. "Dicky." His voice was so low I could hardly hear him. "Dicky, you're off your trolley, and I'm a damned—"
He raised his arm and dropped it.
"Well, never mind what," he finished with a lift of the shoulders. "But I want to say something. It's about what I offered you for those stones. The price—the amount I named—wasn't even a decent gamble; but it was all I could go, and oh, I wanted one so badly, Dicky! And now you've made me feel like a dog. And I can't take your gift, old chap, any more than I could afford to offer you the real value of one of these beautiful stones. Here." And he passed them back to me.
"Iknoweach of them to be worth anywhere from forty to fifty thousand dollars," he said quietly. "They're the kind the crowned heads scoop for jewels of state."
I nodded, and, getting up carelessly, I strolled to a window.
"Devilish lovely night," I said, poking my head out. And it was. Stars overhead and all that sort of thing, and lots of them below, too—I could hear them singing over on Broadway.
"All right, old chap; then here they go into the street," I said. "If my friend can't have 'em, then no jolly crowned heads shall. That's flat!"
Billings started forward with a regular scream.
I waved him back. "Don't come any nearer, old chap," I said, holding my arm out of the window, "or, dash me, I'll drop them instantly. Six stories, you know—stone flagging below."
"But, Dicky—"
"If you don't say you'll take 'em, time I count three, I'll give 'em a toss, by Jove! One!"
"Here, Dicky! Don't be a—"
"Two!" I counted. No bluff, you know; I meant jolly well to do it.
"Just one word—one second, Dicky!" he yelled. "Let me off with one, then. Dicky! Dicky, old chap! Be a good sportsman!"
I hesitated. Dash it, one hates to take an advantage.
Billings stretched out his arm appealingly. "Do, old chap!" he pleaded. "Give me just one—one only!"
His hand shook like a quivering what's-its-name leaf.
I yielded reluctantly: "Oh, well then, call it off with one," I said. And with a sigh I tossed him one of the rubies and dropped the other in the pocket of my smoking-jacket. Billings wiped his forehead, and then he thanked me and wiped his eyes.
"So good of you to give in, old chap," he snuffled. "Never will forget you for it!"
"Oh, I say, chuck it, you know!" I protested.
"Whole family will thank you," he went on in his handkerchief. "Princely magnanimity and all that sort of thing—you'll justhaveto come up for the week end with me this—"
"Iwill!" I reached forward eagerly and insisted on shaking hands. By Jove, what luck!
And Billings looked regularly overcome. All he could do was just shake his head and pump my arm. Why, dash it, this seemed to affect him more even than giving in about the ruby. It was the first time I had ever accepted his invitation, you know.
"Tell you what, old chap," he said, as soon as he could speak. "I'm going to tell you what to do with that other stone. You save that forher."
"Her!" By Jove, I was so startled I lost the grip on my monocle. Billings nodded emphatically.
"Yes, sir—forher; she'll be along one of these days."
"By Jove, you know!" I was almost dizzy with a sudden idea. I fished out the jewel and held it before my glass, squinting doubtfully at it. I wondered if it wasgoodenough for "her."
"I say, Billings," I murmured thoughtfully. "Blondes or brunettes, you know—which wear rubies?"
"Both!" He said it with a kind of jaw snap. "They wear anything in the jewel line they can freeze on to."
"But which—"
"The worst? Blondes, my boy—blondes, every time; especially those going around in black." Billings spoke gloomily. "Let me tell you, my boy—and Iknow—don't you ever have anything to do with a blonde if she's inblack, especially black silk—hear?"
By Jove, his uplifted finger and fierce way of saying it gave me a regular turn, you know. But then there was the ruby, and I was thinking that—
"Perhaps the four of them in a bracelet," I muttered, "with something else to help out. Theymightdo."
"They might," said Billings in a tone of coarse sarcasm. "They might do for a queen!"
I flashed a quick look at him. "Just whatIwas thinking," I answered gently.
"Meantime," said Billings, yawning, "let's go to bed."
And just as I rang for Jenkins I suddenly was seized with a perfectly ripping idea that checked a long yawn right in the middle and almost broke my jaw. For I saw how I could do something handsome that would even up with Billings in a way for the ruby he wouldn't take.
"Tell you what, old chap," I said, slapping him on the shoulder, "youare going to have them to-night!"
"Have—have what?" burst from him. "Rubies? I tell you I won't take another—"
"Rubies!" I ejaculated contemptuously. "Rubies nothing! Something better—something worth while, dash it!"
I saw he would never guess it.
"Why, you shall sleep in the pajamas from China," I exclaimed. And gathering them, I placed them in his hands.
"By George, Dicky!" Billings' face showed feeling. "How infernally clever of you, old chap! How thundering timely, too!"
He held them up singly, studying their outlines critically.
"And see here, Dicky—why, great Thomas cats!" His eyes turned on me wonderingly. "Never noticed it before—did you? But I do believe they are just my size!"
His size! By Jove, I had forgotten all about the item of size! I just collapsed into a chair as he said good night, and sat there blinking in a regular stupefaction of horror as his door closed behind him.
For he was devilish sensitive about his bulk, and I dared not say a word.
"Oh, but I say, it's impossible, you know!" And I stared at Jenkins incredulously.
He grinned foolishly. "I know, sir; but he's in 'em, just the same, and I must say they do fit lovely—just easy-like."
"By Jove!" I gasped helplessly. "Then the jolly things must be made of rubber, that's all! Why, look here, he weighs over three hundred pounds, you know!"
Jenkins' head wagged sagaciously. "I think that's how it is, sir; it's wonderful what they do with rubber now; my brother wears a rubber cloth bandage that ain't no bigger 'round than my arm when it's off of him, and he—"
"Dare say," I said sleepily as I fell back upon my pillow. "Good night, Jenkins; hope you'll get enough sleep to make up for the other night."
Jenkins sighed as he punched out the light. "Thank you, sir—and good night," he murmured.
How long I slept I can not tell, as they say in stories, you know; but I was brought jolly wide awake by a light that shone through the bedroom's open door. For if there's one thing will wake me quicker than everything else it's a light in the room at night. Fact is, I always want it as black as the what's-its-name cave, or else I can't sleep. And this light came from the small electric stand on the writing-desk. I could tell that by the way it shone.
And just then the little silver gong in there chimed three. Jolly rum hour for anybody to be up unless they were having some fun or were sick. So I raised my head and called softly:
"Jenkins—er—Billings!"
No answer. Reluctantly I swung out and stepped within the next room. Not a soul there, by Jove! Then I moved over to Billings' door, which was wide open for coolness, like my own. I could not see the shadowed alcove in which the bed was placed, and so I stood there hesitating, hating awfully to risk the possibility of disturbing him, don't you know. And just then my eyes, ranging sleepily across the room toward the private hall, were startled by the apparition of an open doorway.
Startled, all right! And yet, by Jove, I was in such a jolly fog, I just stood there, nodding and batting at it for a full minute before I could take it in.
"What I call devilish queer," I decided. I walked over and stuck my head out into the dark hall.
"Billings! Jenkins!" I whispered.
By Jove, not a word! Everything as silent as the tomb!
I didn't like it a bit—so mysterious, you know. Besides, dash it, the thing was getting me all waked up! I just knew if once I got excited and thoroughly awake, it would take me nearly ten minutes to get to sleep again. And, by Jove, just then the excitement came, for I got hold of the fact after I had stared at it a while, that the door of my apartment opening into the outer corridor was standing ajar. Why, dash it, it was not only standing, it was moving. Then suddenly the broad streak of light from the corridor widened under the impulse of a freshening breeze, and the door swung open with a bang.
And then I heard my name spoken.
By Jove, I had been standing there with my mouth open, bobbing my head like a silly dodo; but, give you my word, I was suddenly wide awake as a jolly owl wagon!
Away down the corridor, by the mail chute, a man was standing, reading a framed placard. Nothing particularly remarkable in this, but as the door banged he turned his head sharply and ejaculated:
"Dammit! Now, that will wake Lightnut!"
I was surprised, because I couldn't recall ever having seen him before; yet, standing as he did under the light, I had opportunity for a devilish good view.
He was a heavy set old party, rather baldish, with snowy mutton chops and a beefy complexion that was jolly well tanned below the hatband line, you know. The kind of old boy you size up as one of the prime feeder sort and fond of looking on the wine when it is Oporto red. Had something of the cut of the retired India colonels one sees about the Service clubs in London—straight as a lamp post still, but out of training and in devilish need of tapping—that sort of duck, you know!
What a respectable-looking old party might be up to, wandering around a bachelor apartment building at three in the morning, was none of my business. What's more, you know, I didn't care a jolly hang. But the thing that dashed me was that just as I moved toward the door to close it, he uttered my name again and came straight toward me as though to speak.
So I had to wait, by Jove, for I couldn't close the door in his face. Awfully rotten thing to do—that, you know.
"Lost his floor and wants to inquire," I decided.
And then as he toddled across the last yard and stopped before me, I saw that the old chap was in his night things—some darkish sort of pajamas.
His bushy white eyebrows puckered in a frown.
"Hello! Just afraid my moving around was going to get you up—infernal shame!" he said in a thunder growl.
I smiled feebly but politely. "Devilish considerate old cock," was my thought. "Means well."
Aloud I said: "Not at all, you know. Up anyhow."
Then I moved the door just a little—just a wee suggestive inch or two, you know, hoping he would go.
But, by Jove, he just walked right in!
Then he leaned against the wall in the corridor and chuckled.
"By George!" he exclaimed with a leer that showed his almost toothless old gums. "Bet you never would guess what I got up for!"
No, dash it, I didn't even care to try. I just coughed a little.
"He, he!" he giggled. "Woke up and remembered had promised Flossie Fandango ofThe Parisian Broilersa box of steamer flowers. Gad, she sails at ten; so I piled out and shot off a note to my florist, special delivery. Been trying to find out from that infernal card back there when's the first collection from the box below. You don't know, do you?"
By Jove, one of those foot-in-the-grave old stage-door Johnnies! The surprise took my breath.
"Why, the cheesy old sport!" I thought disgustedly. And I answered rather coldly: "Sorry, you know; no idea." And I opened the door wide.
But the old rascal never moved; just stood there, chuckling horribly.
"Well, she'll be back in the fall," he cackled. "And see here, old chap, will introduce you if you like. You need waking up!"
And here I gave a jump and yelled "Ouch!"
For the old fool had dug his thumb into my ribs. Only then did it dawn on me that he was drunk. Of course that was it, and unless I got rid of him the old bore would stand and twaddle the rest of the night. I reached for his hand and shook it.
"We'll have a talk about it some time," I said pleasantly. "Just now, don't you think we'd better each get to bed? So devilish late, you know."
He slapped me on the shoulder with a blow that almost brought me to the floor. Felt like he struck me with a ham, don't you know!
"Right, old chap," he said; "very delicately put; won't keep you up another minute. Believe I'd like a drink first, though, if you don't mind."
Devilish bored as I was, I decided the easiest escape was to humor him.
"All right," I said, leaving the door open and stepping into the room; "I'll get you a glass of water."
"Water!" he exclaimed, following me right in. "Say, don't get funny; it's not becoming to you." He leered at me hideously.
He went right to the corner where stood my cellarette. By Jove, give you my word I was so devilish stupefied I couldn't bring out a word. I wasn't sure what was coming, and as I didn't want Billings' rest disturbed, I quietly closed the door of his room.
The old cock in the black pajamas had uncorked a bottle and was smelling its contents. He grimaced over his shoulder.
"That's infernally rotten Scotch, I say!" he exclaimed with a sort of snort. "Regular sell, by George!"
I was glad Billings didn't hear him, for it had been a present from him only the week before.
"Suppose I'll have to go the rye," he grumbled; and, grinning at me familiarly, he poured himself a drink. He tossed it off, neat. I reflected that perhaps he would go quietly now.
"Well," I said, advancing, "I expect you're anxious to get to your quarters, so I'll say good night." I extended my hand. "That ought to fetch him," I thought, "if he's a gentleman, no matter how jolly corked he may be."
In my grasp his hand felt like a small boxing glove, but when I glanced at it I saw that it was not unusual.
The old duck pumped my arm solemnly and cast his eyes to the ceiling.
"Fa-are-we-e-ll, old f-friend!" he murmured in a husky tremolo, deflecting the corners of his mouth and wagging his bald pate. "If I don't see you again I'll have the river dragged!"
And then, instead of going, dash me if the old fool didn't flop down into Billings' favorite chair and reach for Billings' cigarettes that he had left on the tabouret.
He waved his hand at me. "Oh, you go on to bed, Lightnut," he said, puffing away with iron nerve. "All the sleep's out of me, dammit! I'll just sit here and read and smoke as long as I like, then I'll go in there and turn in." A jerk of his doddering head indicated Billings' room.
By Jove, I hardly knew what to do! I was regularly bowled over, don't you know. I was up against a crisis—that's what—a crisis.
"Oh, I say, you know—" I started remonstrating, and just then I gasped with relief at the welcome sight of Jenkins, peeking round the door-frame behind my visitor's back. His finger was on his lips and he beckoned me earnestly.
At the same moment old whiskers shoved his chair up to the table, switched on the reading-lamp and reached for a magazine.
"I'm on, sir," whispered Jenkins, as I joined him and we stepped aside. "Hadn't I better ring up the janitor on my house 'phone?"
"By Jove, the very thing!" I agreed. "For he'll know where this chap belongs. A fiver, tell him, if he gets a move on. Hurry!"
I slipped back into the room as Jenkins disappeared. The jolly old barnacle had discarded his cigarette and was critically selecting a cigar from my humidor.
"I don't see why the devil you don't go to bed," he said, fixing himself comfortably with two chairs and lighting up.
"I—I'm not sleepy," I stammered, perching on the corner of a chair.
"I believe you're lying," he growled, scowling at me; "but if you're not sleepy, listen to this joke here—it's a chestnut, but it's infernally good."
I never did know what the joke was, for I was listening for other sounds as he read. Suddenly I heard a whistle far down in the street; and I thought it was followed by a patter of running feet.
Then came the quivering rhythm of the elevator rapidly ascending, and while the anecdote was still being droned out between chuckles, I slipped out again into the hall and rejoined Jenkins.
"Janitor says there's no such tenant in this building as I described," Jenkins imparted hurriedly. "Might be a guest, of course; but he doesn't remember ever seeing him. So he whistled for a cop, to be on the safe side, and caught two. Here they are, sir."
Out from the elevator sprang the janitor, half-dressed and looking excited. Close on his heels came two big policemen.
I stepped into the outer corridor and explained the situation. The officers nodded reassuringly.
"'Nough said," one of them commented. "We'll have him out, sir."
The janitor, who had been cautiously sighting through the door within, came running out.
"He shifted around while I was looking, and I got a good look at him," he said with some excitement, "and I never saw him before. I wouldn't forgetthatmug!"
"Suppose you take a squint at him yourself, O'Keefe," suggested the taller of the coppers. "You've been on this beat so long."
In a minute or two O'Keefe came slipping back hurriedly. He drew his companion aside.
"Tell you what, Tim," I heard him say, "do you know, I'm after thinking it looks like old Braxton, known in the perfesh as 'Foxy Grandpa.' He's a swell con man, but has just finished a stretch at Copper John's for going through a flat in the Bronx. He's done murder once."
The other turned to me.
"May save a muss in your rooms if you'll just kinder call him out, sir," he suggested. "It will be simpler." He grinned significantly and glanced at his night stick.
"By Jove!" I ejaculated, looking at Jenkins. "By Jove, you know!"
Jenkins coughed. "Just say you want to speak to him a minute, sir," he said. "They'll do the rest—h'm!"
They all followed me into the hall, and I stepped to the doorway. And then I almost pitched forward, I was so devilish startled.
For, as a crowning example of his daring and reckless conduct, the hoary old reprobate was emerging from Billings' room, his fingers overhauling the contents of my friend's wallet, even as he waddled along, and so absorbed that he never even saw me.
"Ah!" he breathed in a heavy sigh of satisfaction; and out came his fingers, and in them, poised aloft, he held the ruby I had given to Billings. His bleary eyes gloated at it.
"Mine!" he whispered. "Mine now to keep forever!"
I just stood in the doorway, staring. Couldn't say a word, my throat was that paralyzed. First time, you know, I'd ever seen a real burglar or jolly hold-up man, and he looked so different from what I had expected.
But I knew now, of course, that the policeman was right and that the respectable-looking old gentleman was no other than the desperate criminal described as "Foxy Grandpa." But for the intervention of outside assistance doubtless Billings and I might have had our throats cut by the conscienceless old geezer.
He was so absorbed that he did not see me, nor the two helmets piking above my shoulder.
"Up to his old tricks," O'Keefe whispered. "We've got him in the act, Tim!"
"Great!" breathed Tim. "What won't the captain say!"
O'Keefe's breath tickled my ear again and swept my nose. I've never seen beer or sauerkraut since but what I think of it!
"Got your stick ready?" he was saying. "Best not take any chances; Braxton's a quick shooter, they say. When we jump him, better give him the club right off."
Tim whispered an impatient demur. "That's all right; but I'm for coaxing him out here first. I don't want to tap him on the gentleman's rugs; if I do, I can tell you, it'll ruin 'em, that's all."
He swept his hand across his tongue and gripped his stick tighter.
Jenkins, at one side, bobbed his head up and down and smiled his admiration of this sentiment. He leaned nearer to me.
"Just beckon him out, sir," his whisper advised. "Just tell him you want to show him something in the hall—cat, or anything will do. Just so you get him past the furniture and rugs, sir."
I advanced a step into the room. I expected the old knave to be a bit dashed, don't you know. Not he; it never disquieted him a bit. Just gave me a careless leer and went back to the ruby. Somehow I began to feel riled. I'm not often taken that way, but this old scamp's persistent audacity and impudence went beyond anything I had ever heard of.
"What in thunder's the matter with you, son?" he murmured, squinting hideously at the jewel. "You prowl around like you had a pain." Then he went right on:
"Say, did you ever see anything so corking fine?" He looked up, holding the ruby in the light. "And to think how little I dreamed of scooping anything like that when I came in here to-night!"
By Jove, this was a little too much, even for an easy-going chap like myself! The jolly worm will turn, you know.
Dash me, before I knew what I was doing even, I had moved to his side and jerked the ruby from his hand. My face felt like a hot-water bottle as I did it.
"You haven't got it yet," I said, "and I'll take devilish good care you don't get it."
He fell back as though from a blow.
"Why—why, old chap! Why, Lightnut!" he gasped. "What's the matter—what makes you look at me like that?"
"Your liberties have gone just a bit too far, don't you know," I said, looking steadily in his fishy old eye. "I've had enough of you, by Jove, that's all!"
He stared at me, and I could hear him breathing like a blacksmith's bellows. I would never have thought he had such lungs.
Slowly his hand came out, and dash me if it wasn't shaking like he had the delirium what's-its-name. But for his tan, his face would have been as white as his hypocritical old whiskers.
"Is this some infernal joke?" His face summoned a sickly smile that almost instantly faded. His hand fell back to his side. "Why, old fellow, you don't think that way about me, do you? As for the ruby, I—I don't want it now—I just want you to accept my apology for anything I've done, and—and let me get away."
There was a short laugh from the doorway.
"Likely enough," said Officer O'Keefe, his big figure swinging forward with long strides. "Keep him covered, Tim!"
He planted himself between us with a grin.
"You're 'it' again, Foxy! Jig's up. Will you go quietly?"
It did me good to see how completely the old scoundrel was taken back. His wide distended bleary eyes shifted from O'Keefe to me and back again. It was a perfect surprise.
I motioned to Jenkins to close the door of my friend's bedroom. So far, he had evidently slept serenely through all the trouble, and, if possible, I wanted to avoid arousing him now. For a fat man, Billings had the deuce of a temper when stirred up over anything like an imposition upon him, and it would only add to the confusion for him to appear on the scene and learn about his wallet and his treasured ruby that I had rescued.
Foxy Grandpa's face had been rapidly undergoing a change. From pallor to pink it went; and then from pink to red. Now it was becoming scarlet. He threw his head back and faced me angrily.
"Lightnut, will you tell me what the hell this means?" And his heavy voice thundered.
"Here! Here! That'll be enough o' that," cried Officer O'Keefe sharply. "None of your grand-stand play here, or it'll be the worse for you. And no tricks, Braxton, or—"
He clutched his stick menacingly.
"Braxton!" snorted the old fellow. "Why, you born fool, my name's not Braxton!"
"Not now," grinned O'Keefe. "Say, whatisyour name now, Foxy?"
"My name—" roared Foxy Grandpa, and paused abruptly. He looked rather blankly from one officer to the other.
"See here; do I understand I'm under arrest?" he inquired.
"You certainly are talking, Foxy," chuckled O'Keefe.
"Then my name's Doe—John Doe," and I thought the fellow's quick glance at me held an appeal. Of what sort, I had no idea.
"And what, may I ask, is the charge?" he asked again, with what was apparently a great effort at calmness.
"Oh, come now, Braxton," said the officer in a tone of disgust, "stop your foolery; you're just using up time. Ain't it enough that you're in this building and in this gentleman's rooms?"
"In his rooms!" exploded Foxy Grandpa. "Why, you lunkhead, this gentleman will tell you I am his guest!" He turned to me with a sort of angry laugh.
"Tell him, Lightnut," he rasped. "I've had enough of this!"
The big policeman's features expanded in a grin, while Tim doubled forward an instant, his blue girth wabbling with internal appreciation of the Foxy one's facetiousness; and the janitor snickered.
Jenkins looked shocked. As for me, dash it, I never so wished for my monocle, don't you know!
O'Keefe's head angled a little to give me the benefit of a surreptitious wink.
"Oh, certainly," he said, his voice affecting a fine sarcasm; "if the gentleman says you're hisfriend—"
"He's no friend of mine," I proclaimed indignantly. "Never saw him before in my life."
Instead of being confounded, the artful old villain fell back with a great air of astonishment and dismay. By Jove, he managed to turn fairly purple.
"Wha-a-t's that?" he gasped stranglingly and clutching at the collar of his pajamas. "Say that again, Dicky."
I looked at him severely.
"Oh, I say, don't call me 'Dicky,' either," I remonstrated quietly. "It's a name I only like to hear my intimate friends use."
He kind of caught the back of a chair and glared wildly at me from under his bushy wintry eyebrows. The beefy rolls of his lower jaw actually trembled.
"Don't you—haven't you always classed me as that, Dic—er—Lightnut?" he sort of whispered.
By Jove, the effrontery of such acting fairly disgusted me. I looked him over from head to foot with measured contempt. "I don't know you at all," I said coldly, turning away.
"Ye gods!" he wheezed, clutching at his grizzled hair.
The two policemen shifted impatiently.
"That'll about do, Foxy," growled O'Keefe. "It's entertaining, but enough of a thing—"
But the old duffer caught his sleeve.
"Wait!" he panted. "One second—wait—just one second!"
He looked at Jenkins and ducked his neck forward, swallowing hard.
"Jenkins," he said with a sickly smile. "You—you see how it is with Lightnut—poor fellow! None of us ever thought he would go off that bad though. But, as it is, I guess you're the one now who will have to set me right with these people. You'll have to stand for me."
Jenkins looked alarmed. He addressed the officers eagerly:
"S'help me," he cried, his glance impaling the prisoner with scorn, "I never see this party before in the ten years I been in New York!"
Did that settle the fellow? By Jove, not a bit; his jolly nerve seemed inexhaustible!
He blinked a little; and then with a roar he jumped for Jenkins, but O'Keefe shoved him back. Panting and struggling between the two officers, and fairly at bay at last, the desperate old man seemed to determine one last bluff, don't you know, and with the janitor.
"Here, you," he bellowed, as the man dodged behind Jenkins. "You have seen me come in this building often! Tell 'em so, or I'll kill you!"
The little man turned pale, but came up pluckily.
"If—if I had," he stammered, "you never would have come in again, if I knew as much about you as I do now. I assure you, gents, I never laid eyes on this man before."
"Well, I'll be—"
He broke off and seemed to fall out of the grasp of the men backward into a big chair. Couldn't quit his jolly acting, it was clear to me, even when he had played his last card.
"Is everybody crazy, or am I?" he said, brushing his hand across his forehead; and dashed if the perspiration didn't stand on it in big drops, clear up into his old bald pate.
"See here," he broke out again, addressing O'Keefe, "send for somebody else in this building; send for—" He seemed to deliberate.
The policeman laughed derisively.
"Likely we'll be hauling people out of bed at this hour, isn't it," he sneered, "just to let you keep up this fool's game!" He leveled his stick menacingly. "Now, looky here, Braxton!" he exclaimed sternly.
"I'm being easy with you because you're a gray-headed old man, but—"
By Jove, it was plain he had struck a sensitive point!
"Gray-headed old man!" shouted the fellow, coming out of the chair like a rubber ball, and pointing to his reflection in the long mirror. "Does that look like gray hair—that red topknot? It'llbegray, though, if this infernal craziness goes on much longer—I'll say that much!" And back he flopped into the chair.
The two officers exchanged glances, and, by Jove, they looked ugly!
"Call for the wagon, Tim," said O'Keefe shortly, indicating the 'phone. "The fool's going to give trouble. Kahoka Apartments, tell them. Hurry; let's get him to the street."
He made a dive at the figure in the chair and jerked him forward.
But his grip seemed to slip and he only moved his prisoner a few inches. He tried again with about the same result.
"Get a move on, Tim," he said pantingly. "He's bigger, somehow, than he looks, and awful heavy; it'll take both of us. Get up, Braxton, unless you want the club!"
The man settled solidly in the depths of the chair.
"Club and be hanged!" he replied with a snap of his jaw. "I won't go in any dirty police wagon—that's flat! You may take me in a hearse first. Get a cab or a taxi, if I have to go with you!"
"Gamey old sport, anyhow, by Jove!" I thought with sudden admiration. Couldn't help it, dash it! Heart just went out to him, somehow.
I gently interposed as O'Keefe prepared to lunge again.
"I'll stand the cab for him, officer," I said with a smile, "if your rules, don't you know, or whatever it is, will allow."
I added in a lowered voice:
"Makes it devilish easier for you, don't you know, and avoids such a jolly row. And—er—I want to ask you and your friend to accept from me a little token of my appreciation."
The policeman exchanged a glance with Tim and considered.
"Well, sir," he said, "as to the cab, of course if you're a mind to want to do that, it's your own affair."
He turned to his companion.
"Just cancel that, Tim," he directed. "Call a four-wheeler."
"Thank you, Lightnut," put in the old man gratefully. "Youhavegot a grain of decency left, by George, after all!"
Meantime, Jenkins was answering my inquiry.
"I don't believe, sir, you have a bit of cash in the house. You told me so when you were retiring."
By Jove, I remembered now! The poker game in the evening!
I was wondering whether they could use a check, when I spied Billings' wallet on the table.
The very thing, by Jove!
Examination showed, first thing, a wad of yellow-backs, fresh from the bank. I peeled off two and pushed them into the officer's hand.
"This belongs to a friend of mine," I remarked; "but it's just the same as my own, don't you know, and he won't mind. Dash it, we're just like brothers!"
A howl of maniacal laughter from the old fool in the chair startled us both.
"Regular Damon and Pythias, damn it!" he gabbled, grinning with hideous face contortions. "One for all, and all for one! And just help yourself; don't mind me. Why—hell!"
O'Keefe prodded him sharply in the shoulder with his night stick.
"Stop your skylarking now, Foxy," he admonished angrily, "and come on. Here the gentleman's gone and put up his money for a cab for you and you ought to want to get out of his way so he can rest."
"He's sure been kind to you," supplemented Tim, whose eye had noted the passing of the yellow boys.
"Kind!" mocked the old geezer, showing his scattered teeth in a horrible grin. "Why, he's a lu-lu, a regular Samaritan!"
"No names!" warned O'Keefe, slightly lifting his night stick. "Come on to the street—you seem to forget you're under arrest."
He added hastily:
"And I ought to have warned you that anything you may say, Foxy—"
"Oh, you go to—Brooklyn!" snarled Foxy. "For two pins I'd knock your block off, you fat-headed Irish fool! Think I'm going down to the sidewalk without my clothes?"
"Are your clothes somewhere in this building?" I asked with some sympathy.
He whirled on me sneeringly and jeered like a jolly screech owl:
"Oh, no; not exactlyinthe building—they're on the flagpole on the roof, of course! He-he-he! Bloody good joke, isn't it?"
I sat on the edge of the table wearily; and, catching the policeman's eye, shrugged my shoulders significantly.
"You're right, sir," he said apologetically. "We won't fool a second longer. Here, you take that side, Tim. Let's pull!"
And they did pull, but, by Jove, they couldn't raise him.
"Queerest go I ever see," Tim gasped. "He ain't holding on to nothing, is he? And, O'Keefe, hefeels big!"
"Pshaw, it's not that," the other panted; "it's just the way he's sitting. Why, you canseehe ain't so very big." He nodded to Jenkins and the janitor. "Here, you two! Help us, can't you?"
And with one mighty, united heave, they brought the loudly protesting old man to his feet and held him there. O'Keefe faced me.
"Might be well to take a look around, sir, and see if you think of anything else he's stolen, before we take him off."
"Good idea, Lightnut!" Old Braxton stopped struggling and whirled his head toward me, his face almost black with rage. "Ha, ha! Why don't you have me searched? There's not a pocket in these damn pajamas!"
"Anything whatever, sir, we'll have him leave behind," said O'Keefe.
"By Jove!" I don't know how I ever managed to say it. Fact is, things had just suddenly spun round before me like a merry what's-its-name. For Ididrecognize something! The old fellow's unabashed reference to pajamas was what brought it to my attention.
"Ha!" O'Keefe nodded. "Thereissomething! Just say the word, sir."
I looked helplessly at Jenkins, and then I saw that of a sudden he recognized them, too. His eyes rolled at me understandingly.
"What is it, sir?" demanded O'Keefe respectfully. "The law requires—"
I swallowed hard. "It—it's the pajamas," I said faintly.
The old rascal uttered a roar and tried to get at me.
"You cold-blooded scoundrel!" he bellowed. "So this is why—"
But here a jab of the night stick took him in the side with a sound like a blow on a punching bag. Words left the old man and he gasped desperately for breath. O'Keefe tried to shake him.
"Did you get those pajamas in here?" he demanded fiercely, and he drew back his stick as though for another jab. But the old geezer nodded quickly, glaring at me and trying to wheeze something.
"That's enough," said the officer. He turned to me. "You recognize them, do you, sir?"
"I—I think so," I stammered, looking at Jenkins, who nodded. "They belong to a friend of mine who—a—must have left them here."
"I see." He fished out a note-book. "Mind giving me the name, sir? Just a matter of form, you know—" He licked his pencil expectantly.
"Oh, I say, you know—" I gasped at Jenkins. "I don't think she—I—"
"Certainly not, sir," affirmed Jenkins, solemnly looking upward.
"She?" The note-book slowly closed, then with the pencil went back into the officer's pocket. "Excuseme, sir. H'm!"
"H'm!" echoed Tim apologetically. Then they both glared at Foxy.
The old man just snarled at them. He was like a dog at bay.
"All right!" he hissed. "You just try to take them off—I'll kill somebody, that's all. Think I'm going to make a spectacle of myself?"
Jenkins whispered to me.
"To be sure," I said aloud. "He might as well wear them now to the station. Just so he returns them when he gets his clothes."
"Very good, sir," said O'Keefe, relieved. "We'll see he does that. Come along now, Braxton—shutup, I tell you!"
And with all four of them behind the charge, they managed to rush the loudly protesting old man to the door.
"Iwon'tgo without my clothes, I tell you," he raged.
But he did. Fighting, swearing and protesting, the jolly old vagabond was roughly bundled into the elevator.
"Good night, sir," called O'Keefe as the four of them dropped downward. "We'll let you know if it seems necessary to trouble you."
Once again inside, Jenkins and I just stared at each other without a word, we were that tired and disgusted. To me, the only dashed crumb of comfort in the whole business was the wonderful fact that Billings seemed to have slept like a jolly Rip through the whole beastly row.
Very softly I opened his door again, so that the breeze flowed through once more. Jenkins put out the lights, and I stood there listening, but could hear no sound within the room, for the street below was already heralding the clamor of the coming day.
Jenkins' whisper brushed my ear as I moved away:
"Sleeping like a baby, ain't he, sir?"
By Jove, it seemed to me I had been asleep about a minute when I saw the sunlight splashing through the blinds.
Jenkins stood beside me with something in his hand.
"Didn't hear me, did you, sir?" he was asking. "I said I thought the address looked like Mr. Billings' handwriting. And he's gone, sir."
"Gone?"
I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I had a befogged notion that Jenkins looked a little queer.
"Yes, sir. He's not in his room, nor in the apartment anywhere."
"Eh—how—what's that?" For Jenkins' hand extended an envelope.
"Perhaps you would like to read this now, sir."
It was from Billings—I knew his fist in an instant. It was very short and without heading. In fact, above his name appeared just a half-dozen penciled words, heavily underscored, and without punctuation:
Damn you send me my clothes
Damn you send me my clothes
"His clothes?" I looked perplexedly at Jenkins.
He was looking a little pale and held his eyes fixedly to the picture molding across the room. He coughed gently.
"Yes, sir," he uttered faintly; "they're in his room, butheain't."
"By Jove!" I remarked helplessly. And just then I remembered something that brought me wide awake in an instant.
I questioned eagerly:
"I say—that desk lamp in there, Jenkins—did you switch it on in the night? And the doors I found open—know anything about them?" And Jenkins' blank expression was the reply.
"By Jove, Jenkins!" I gasped.
Jenkins compressed his lips. "Exactly, sir."
"Er—what were you thinking, Jenkins?" I questioned desperately. And I think Jenkins' stolidity wavered before my anxious face.
"It ain't for me to be thinking anything, sir—besides, the messenger's waiting—but—" His hand sought his pocket.
He stepped back, leaving something on the stand by my bed.
"What's that?" I questioned in alarm. "Another note?"
"No, sir—not exactly, sir. But if I may suggest—without offense, sir—that you fill it out, I will see that it gets to him."
"Him? Who's him—he, I mean?"
"Doctor Splasher, sir, the temperance party I was speaking of. I've already filled out mine, and I'm going to put one in for Mr. Billings when I send the clothes." From the doorway he turned a woebegone countenance toward me. "It's heartrending, sir—if I may be permitted to say so—to think of a nice gentleman like Mr. Billings wandering over to the club with nothing on but red pajamas."
But when I telephoned they stated that Mr. Billings had not been at the club since last evening. Some one who answered the 'phone thought Mr. Billings was with his friend, Mr. Lightnut, in the Kahoka Apartments. And, of course, I knew jolly well he was not.
As I turned from the telephone, something in Jenkins' expression arrested my attention.
"Well?" I said impatiently, for he has so many devilishly clever inspirations, you know; and, dash it, I like to encourage him.
"Pardon, sir, but don't you think—" Here he looked straight up at the electrolier and coughed. "About Mr. Billings, sir; I was going to suggest that though he isn't over at the club, he'ssomewhere, sir."
Why, dash it, I thoughtthatjolly likely, myself! I said so.
"Yes, sir," said Jenkins darkly. "And Mr. Billings usually knowswherehe is. I guess, sir, he's in this neighborhood—h'm!"
I just sat staring at him a minute, thinking what a devilish wonderful thing intuition is for the lower classes.
"By Jove, Jenkins!" I said; "then you think—"
"I think Mr. Billings, sir, might prefer to find himself—h'm! Yes, sir." Jenkins lifted the breakfast tray with deliberation, removed it from the room, and returned, moving about the furniture and busying himself with an air of mystery. Dash it, I knew he had up his sleeve some other devilish clever notion, and so presently I spoke up just to touch him off.
"By Jove!" I remarked.
"Yes, sir." Jenkins rested the end of the crumb brush on the table and considered me earnestly. "You know, Mr. Lightnut, last night as Mr. Billings was retiring, he says to me: 'Jenkins, Mr. Lightnut has promised to go up home with me to-morrow for the week end. There's a tenner coming your way if he doesn't forget about it. He's to goto-morrow, now, mind you, Jenkins; and it don't matterwhatcomes up.Yousee that he goes up to-morrow.'"
"By Jove!" I said as he paused, and I screwed my monocle tighter and nodded. "I see."
Of course I didn't see, but I knew the poor fellow was driving at something, and I wanted to give him a run.
"Exactly, sir." And he stood waiting. "So, shall I pack, sir? You'll want to take the four-ten express, I suppose?"
By Jove, it was the most amazingly, dashed clever guess I ever knew Jenkins to get off! Fact! I knew that if there was one thing more than another in all the world that I wanted to do, it was to take that four-ten express. To think of seeing Frances again, andto-day!
Of course, it was quite clear that Billings must have anticipated the possibility of something unusual, and that was why he had impressed a sort of personal responsibility upon Jenkins—kind of tipping him off, as it were, so he would be sure to see that I got off in case he did not show up himself. It was very easy to see this, especially as Jenkins saw it that way, too, but what made it specially so awfully jolly easy to see was the fact that Iwantedto go, you know.
So I let Jenkins shoot a wire up to Billings, stating my train, and I just had to chuckle as in my mind's eye I saw old brazen face Jack coming down to the station to meet me, and just ignoring his going off in the middle of the night in my pajamas. By Jove, perhaps he would bringherdown to the train in his car, so I would be sure not to ask him any questions!
I left Jenkins to travel by a later train, and a little after four I was whirling above Spuyten Duyvil and looking about the chair-car to see if there was any one I knew. But, by Jove, there was hardly a soul in the car—nobody except just women, you know, and these filled the whole place. And they were talking about all sorts of dashed silly things. Most of them were devilish pretty as the word goes, but, of course, not a patch onher. Oh, well, of course, theycouldn'tbe that! Don't know how they were behind me, you know—too much trouble to turn round and fix my glass. So I just took the range in front, looking at the tops of the hats and the chairs and wondering if women would ever become extinct like that bird—the great what's-its-name, you know.
"By Jove,shecould be spared!" I thought, studying a young woman who stood in the aisle beside me. She was rather heavy set—what you might call egg-shaped. Her face and her heavy glasses seemed to proclaim a mission in life, and the dowdyish cut of her rig and the reckless way it was hurled on made it plain that she was on to the fact that nature had made a blunder in her sex, and she wanted the world toknowshe knew.
She was talking to the lady immediately behind me. At least, I discovered after five minutes that she was talking. By Jove, up to that time, I thought she was canvassing for a book! The other never got in a word, don't you know. And I was getting devilish tired of it and wishing she would move on, when she shifted, preparatory to doing so, and raised her voice:
"Very well, then, if you don't care to come, I think I will go forward again and finish the discussion with Doctor Jennie Newman upon the metamorphoses of the primordial protoplasms. Watch out for Tarrytown now, Frances."
Tarrytown! Frances! By Jove, my heart skipped a beat!
The other murmured something.
Her voice! Her blessed, sweet voice, of which every syllable, every shade, was indented in my memory like the record of a what's-its-name! By Jove, my Frances, and right behind me!
All I could do to sit still a minute longer, but I knew jolly well if I turned now I would be introduced to the freak and lose I couldn't tell how many precious moments with my dear one. So I sat low in the chair, polishing my monocle, you know, and noting with satisfaction that my part reflected all right in the little strip of mirror. I tried to get a glimpse of her in it, too, but all I could see was a glorious white hat—a stunning Neapolitan, flanked with a sheaf of wild ostrich plumes.
And then the freak left. I watched her spraddle down the aisle and out through the little corridor before I dared risk the accident of a backward turn of that funny green hat.
Then, when all was safe, I took a deep breath, gripped hard the arms of the chair, and whirled suddenly around.
"Frances!" I whispered. "My darling!"