Ears said, "Pretty--pretty--pretty."

Joy looked at me. "What's eating _him_?"

There was a bottle on the bar together with some glasses. I stepped over
and poured myself a drink. I certainly needed it. "Bag Ears isn't
referring to you, dear. He's alluding to his bells. He's hearing them
again."

"Oh, my sky-blue panties! Pour me a drink."

I complied. "You see, Bag Ears is somewhat punch-drunk from his years in
the prize ring. I've seen this happen before."

We sipped our brandy and watched Bag Ears move toward the door.

"That's the way it always is. When he hears the bells, he feels a
terrific urge to go forth and search for them. But he always ends up at
Red Nose Tessie's and she takes him home. It's no use trying to stop
him. He'll hang one on you."

As Bag Ears disappeared into the street, there were tears in Joy's eyes.
"He's dreaming of his bells," she murmured. "I think that's beautiful."
She held up her glass. "May he find his bells. Pour me another drink."

I poured two and we drank to that.

"May we all someday find our bells," Joy said with emotion, and I was
delighted to find my wife a girl of such deep sentiment. "Pour me
another."

I did. "Your quotation was wrong, sweetheart," I said. "Don't you mean,
'May we all find our Shangri-La?'"

"Of course. Let's drink to it."

We drank to it and were rudely interrupted by the barkeep who said, "I
hope you got some dough. That stuff ain't water."

I gave him a ten-dollar bill and--with a heavy heart--turned to Uncle
Peter. "Come, Uncle," I said gently. "We might as well get it over
with."

"Get what over with?"

"Our trip to the police station. You must give yourself up of course."

"What for?"

I shook my head sadly. Uncle Peter would never fry. His mind was
obviously out of joint. "For murder."

He looked at Joy. He said, "Oh, my broken test tube! There is no need
of--"

"I know it will be hard for them to convict you without _corpus
delicti_, but you must confess."

"Let's all go over to my laboratory."

"If you wish. You may have one last visit there."

"Excellent--one last visit." He smiled and I wondered if I saw a certain
craftiness behind it.

Cora voiced no objections, seemingly anxious to stay near Uncle Peter.
When we got to his laboratory, he went on through into his living
quarters and took a suit case from the closet.

"What are you going to do?"

"Pack my things."

"Oh, of course. You'll need some things in jail