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 exactly _in_ the 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, he _feels big_!"

"Pshaw, it's not that," the other panted; "it's just the way he's
sitting. Why, you can _see_ he 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
I _did_ recognize something! The old fellow's unabashed reference to
pajamas was what brought it to my attention.

"Ha!" O'Keefe nodded. "There _is_ something! 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 ras