ied as to help
himself to a cigar. When he had clipped a V from the end with his knife,
he leaned over and tapped me impressively on the knee with the blade.

"And just think, Dicky," he said, absently emphasizing with the sharp
point of the knife, "there I sat, moneyless--not even a dime, you
know--in a suit of pajamas whose three buttons were worth one hundred
and fifty thousand dollars!"

He fell back, his fat arms eloquently outspreading.

"Can you beat it?" he demanded.

I rubbed my palm on my knee and considered.

Privately, I thought I _could_ beat it--by Jove, I was sure I could! I
knew of a pair of pajamas worth a dashed sight more than money. And I
wondered gloomily where they were. I had telephoned as soon as I stepped
out at the Grand Central Station, and after a bit made them understand
who I was and reminded them that the black pajamas had not been returned
according to promise. And then they told me Foxy Grandpa had escaped,
but as he had nothing else on, they felt sure of rounding him up as soon
as he came out of his hiding-place--probably after dark.

"By the way, old chap," puffed Billings, his poise and good humor
improving under the spell of the cigar, "I was sorry to return the
pajamas torn and dusty and wrinkled as they were. But you see, on
account of the rubies, I was leary about having them pressed or fussed
over. So I wrapped and sealed them myself, just as one does a jewel
package. Got them, did you?"

I stared at Billings through my glass.

"Didn't you get them?" he questioned in alarm.

"Yes, yes--it's all right, old chap," I said hastily and as pleasantly
as I could. "Eugene delivered the box to Jenkins and I opened it myself.
Thought it was--h'm--thought it was something else." Then I proceeded
soothingly: "But you're just a little mistaken about the dust and
wrinkles, old chap--and about them being torn. Ha, ha! Good joke!"

But Billings' face was unresponsive.

"Why, you goop," he said with cheerful contempt, "there's a triangular
tear in the back of the coat you could stick your head through; and one
of the sleeves is in ribbons."

I just opened the drawer of the table and took out the box--glove box, I
think it was--containing the pajamas. I had read something somewhere
about the clearing effect--the reaction, and that sort of thing,
produced sometimes by a shock.

"See for yourself, old chap," I said gently. And I lifted out the
gossamer fabrics and again spread their