o my own apartment.

"Yes, sir," assented Jenkins demurely. "It's sleeping on the divan the
other night, sir. Eight hours there ain't nothing like eight hours in
bed and in your pajamas."

"Pajamas!" I ejaculated, startled.

For all day I had been thinking of _her_. I wondered if Billings would
happen to think to invite me up for the week end. But he had so many
times, and I had never gone.

"By Jove, that reminds me," I said. "Those red silk pajamas!"

"Yes, sir." Jenkins' face hardened in an odd, wooden way.

"I was wondering, Jenkins, if those pajamas were torn any in our little
row the other night."

Poor Jenkins winced a little. "I think not, sir," he muttered
humbly--"leastwise, they were all right last night when Mr.--" He seemed
to catch himself abruptly. "I mean when I found them this morning, sir."

He returned with the garments I had received from Mastermann, and again
we spread them under the lamp on the table. They looked singularly
smooth and unwrinkled. There was not a single tear or break, not even
with the delicate cords that twisted to form the frogs of the coat.

"My, sir! But ain't they red!" breathed Jenkins. "Them cords look like
little red snakes."

I cut an anxious glance at Jenkins, for I did not like his reference to
snakes. Seemed ominous, somehow. But his appearance was composed and
reassuring. And, by Jove, come to look, the cords did look just like
tiny, coiled serpents of glowing fire. Why, they were so jolly red they
hurt your eyes. Fact! And thin as the beautiful stuff was, this brighter
red ran all over the other, covering every inch of it and forming the
closest, finest what-you-call-it embroidery. It was as faint and dainty
a pattern as that on a soap bubble! Fact is, I could not trace it, even
with my glass.

The only part that wasn't covered with this embroidery business was the
stuff used to cover the knots, or little balls, over which the cords
were meant to hook. In working with some of these cords, idly fastening
and unfastening them, I got a little impatient with one that seemed
tight, you know, and I used my manicure knife to pull the knot through.

"Careful, sir," warned Jenkins. "Likely to cut something."

By Jove! No sooner said, than I did it!

The dashed blade slipped somehow and cut into the threads that tied the
covers or caps or whatever-you-call-'ems, over the knots. And when I
pulled, the beastly piece of silk came off in my fingers.

And then--oh,