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?"

CHAPTER XIII

FRANCES

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

"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, but _he_ ain'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