en with me--ever since I was out of college, you
know--five years--and remembered how devilish faithful and attached he
had always been. Poor old Jenks! It was awful his going off this way! I
recalled how he had taken to seeing things, earlier in the evening, and
had made me see them, too, dash it! One thing I determined: whatever had
to be done with him, he should have the finest of attention.

I knew that I ought to telephone to somebody or something, but dashed if
I had any idea who or where. Oddly enough, not a soul seemed to have
been roused by the pistol shot, but I saw by the little clock that it
was close to three--the hour in a bachelor apartment house when
everybody is asleep, if they're going to sleep at all.

I decided that the best thing to do first was to get into some clothes.
And with this thought I was turning away, when it occurred to me to make
an effort to see if poor Jenkins seemed more rational now or had gone to
sleep.

I tapped upon the door. "Are you asleep?" I asked softly.

A howl of positive terror came back.

"I'm a-keeping quiet," he cried, "but don't let me hear your voice
again, or I'll jump right out of the window."

I shook my head sadly and tiptoed into my room, where I slipped
hurriedly out of the pajamas and into some clothes; then back I went to
the telephone. It was on my little writing-desk close to the door
confining Jenkins.

I lifted the receiver with a sigh.

"Hello, central," I began, responding to the operator. "I say, will you
give me 'information?'"

A loud shout suddenly sounded from behind the closed door, and there
came a frantic double-pounding of fists.

"Mr. Lightnut--Mr. Lightnut!" screamed Jenkins. "Oh, Mr. Lightnut,
you're back--you're alive--I can hear your voice! This is Jenkins, Mr.
Lightnut; yes, sir, Jenkins. They've got me locked in!"

I clapped the receiver on the hook and sprang to the door, unlocking
it. Jenkins almost tumbled into my arms. By Jove, for a second I hung in
the wind, he acted so crazy still; at least, it seemed so just at first.
The fellow threw his arm about my neck and laughed--laughed and cried,
dash it--and just wringing my hands and carrying on--Oh, awful! And even
when I got him into a chair, he just sat there laughing and crying like
a jolly old silly, patting my hand, you know, and wiping his eyes, what
time they were not devouring me.

"Has he gone, sir?" he gasped huskily. "Did he jump from the window?"
But I waved