't_!... Um, yes--John W. Billings--yes,
that's his name.... Stuff and nonsense, sir! He's up-stairs now in his
room.... Says what?"--the judge's eyes rolled frowningly upward as he
listened; then he licked his lips and bent again, speaking with
passionate incisiveness: "Why, dammit, man, I've just this minute been
talking to him--just left him, y'understand.... _Certainly_ your man's
an impostor--_you_ ought to know that!... Yes, this is Judge Billings,
himself.... Eh? Oh, that's all _right_, but now let me tell you
something"--he cleared his throat and gathered his voice in cold,
deliberate accents: "You let me be annoyed again from your precinct, and
I can promise _you_ that.... Um, well that's all right then.... 'Bye!"

He banged the receiver to the hook and faced about, muttering things to
himself.

"Well, upon my word! Of all the--excuse me, Lightnut!" He wiped his
forehead, his glance abstracted and scowling. "Somebody is putting this
fool up to this--somebody trying to annoy me!" He uttered a short laugh
that was more of a snort. "There's some fool lunatic down in New York
that they've arrested and he's got a bug that he's my son! This is the
second offense. Caused me to lose two hours from my office yesterday in
the city and upset me for the whole day! And me so busy! busy!"--his
hands lifted toward the papers on the table--"so busy I can
hardly"--another snort, and he relighted his cigar, puffing
savagely--"looks like there's just one fool thing after another
interrupting me or absorbing my time!"

"Jolly shame, you know!" I responded, dropping sympathetically into a
chair. I pushed the papers to one side so I could rest my elbow on the
table edge; besides, I saw they were fretting him--could tell by his
glances, you know.

For another thing, I had got hold of a devilish shrewd idea I wanted to
break to him--about this chap who was pretending to be his son. I
remembered that the old rascal who had invaded my rooms had tried to
make me believe that _I_ was his bosom friend.

"Oh, I say, you know," I began, declining a cigar and selecting a
cigarette from my case, "I've an idea!"

And I faced him impressively.

"You've _what_?"--he straightened forward, with a kind of twisted
smile--interested, you know--"whatever makes you think _that_, my boy?"

I waited, sending a long, thin smoke funnel upward. Kept him expectant,
you see, and gave me time to get hold of the corners of the jolly thing
myself. Catch