, bed sheets, and something that
Flannigan pointed to with rage and said he hadn't been able to keep his
clothes on all day. He refused to explain further, however, and trailed
the nondescript article up the stairs. We could only gaze after him and
wonder what it all meant.

The conclave lasted far into the night. The feminine contingent went to
bed, but not to sleep. Some time after midnight, Mr. Harbison and Max
went downstairs and I could hear them rattling around testing windows
and burglar alarms. But finally every one settled down and the rest of
the night was quiet.

Betty Mercer came into my room the next morning, Sunday, and said Anne
Brown wanted me. I went over at once, and Anne was sitting up in bed,
crying. Dal had slipped out of the room at daylight, she said, and
hadn't come back. He had thought she was asleep, but she wasn't, and
she knew he was dead, for nothing ever made Dal get up on Sunday before
noon.

There was no one moving in the house, and I hardly knew what to do. It
was Betty who said she would go up and rouse Mr. Harbison and Max, who
had taken Jim's place in the studio. She started out bravely enough, but
in a minute we heard her flying back. Anne grew perfectly white.

"He's lying on the upper stairs!" Betty cried, and we all ran out. It
was quite true. Dal was lying on the stairs in a bathrobe, with one of
Jim's Indian war clubs in his hand. And he was sound asleep.

He looked somewhat embarrassed when he roused and saw us standing
around. He said he was going to play a practical joke on somebody
and fell asleep in the middle of it. And Anne said he wasn't even an
intelligent liar, and went back to bed in a temper. But Betty came in
with me, and we sat and looked at each other and didn't say much. The
situation was beyond us.

The doctor let Jim out the next day, there having been nothing the
matter with him but a stomach rash. But Jim was changed; he mooned
around Bella, of course, as before, but he was abstracted at times, and
all that day--Sunday--he wandered off by himself, and one would come
across him unexpectedly in the basement or along some of the unused back
halls.

Aunt Selina held service that morning. Jim said that he always had a
prayer book, but that he couldn't find anything with so many people
in the house. So Aunt Selina read some religious poetry out of the
newspapers, and gave us a valuable talk on Deception versus Honesty,
with me as the illustration.

Almos