r soda from the ice-box?"

"Soda? For what?"

"For your whisky and soda, before you go to bed, sir."

"Oh, certainly, yes. Bring the soda. And--just a moment, Mrs. Pitman:
Mr. Holcombe is a total abstainer, and has always been so. It is
Ladley, not Holcombe, who takes this abominable stuff."

I said I quite understood, but that Mr. Ladley could skip a night, if
he so wished. But the little gentleman would not hear to it, and when
I brought the soda, poured himself a double portion. He stood looking
at it, with his face screwed up, as if the very odor revolted him.

"The chances are," he said, "that Ladley--that I--having a nasty piece
of work to do during the night, would--will take a larger drink than
usual." He raised the glass, only to put it down. "Don't forget," he
said, "to put a large knife where you left the one last night. I'm
sorry the water has gone down, but I shall imagine it still at the
seventh step. Good night, Mrs. Pitman."

"Good night, Mr. Ladley," I said, smiling, "and remember, you are
three weeks in arrears with your board."

His eyes twinkled through his spectacles. "I shall imagine it paid,"
he said.

I went out, and I heard him close the door behind me. Then, through
the door, I heard a great sputtering and coughing, and I knew he had
got the whisky down somehow. I put the knife out, as he had asked me
to, and went to bed. I was ready to drop. Not even the knowledge that
an imaginary Mr. Ladley was about to commit an imaginary crime in the
house that night could keep me awake.

Mr. Reynolds came in at eleven o'clock. I was roused when he banged
his door. That was all I knew until morning. The sun on my face
wakened me. Peter, in his basket, lifted his head as I moved, and
thumped his tail against his pillow in greeting. I put on a wrapper,
and called Mr. Reynolds by knocking at his door. Then I went on to the
front room. The door was closed, and some one beyond was groaning. My
heart stood still, and then raced on. I opened the door and looked in.

Mr. Holcombe was on the bed, fully dressed. He had a wet towel tied
around his head, and his face looked swollen and puffy. He opened one
eye and looked at me.

"What a night!" he groaned.

"What happened! What did you find?"

He groaned again. "Find!" he said. "Nothing, except that there was
something wrong with that whisky. It poisoned me. I haven't been out
of the house!"

So for that day, at least, Mr. Ladley became Mr. Holcombe