"I guess his advice is good," said he, as he walked along. "I'll go back right away--but meanwhile I'll get Billie Perkins to come out and spend the night with me, and we'll try it on him. I'll ask him out for a few days." Suffice it to say that Perkins accepted, and that night found the two eating supper together outwardly serene. Perkins was quite interested when Chung brought in the supper. "Wears his queue Pompadour, I see," he said, as he glanced at Chung's extraordinary head-dress. [Illustration: "'WEARS HIS QUEUE POMPADOUR, I SEE'"] "Yes," said Dawson, shortly. "You wear your hair that way yourself," he added, for he was pleased as well as astonished to note that Perkins's hair was manifesting an upward tendency. "Nonsense," said Perkins. "It's flat as a comic paper." "Look at yourself in the glass," said Dawson. Perkins obeyed. There was no doubt about it. His hair was rising! He started back uneasily. "Dawson," he cried, "what is it? I've felt queer ever since I entered your front door, and I assure you I've been wondering why you wore your mustache like a pirate all the evening." "I can't account for it. I've got the creeps myself," said Dawson, and then he told Perkins all that I have told you. "Let's--let's go back to New York," said Perkins. "Can't," replied Dawson. "No train." "Then," said Perkins, with a shiver, "let's go to bed." The two men retired, Dawson to the room directly over the parlor, Perkins to the apartment back of it. For company they left the gas burning, and in a short time were fast asleep. An hour later Dawson awakened with a start. Two things oppressed him to the very core of his being. First, the gas was out; and second, Perkins had unmistakably groaned. He leaped from his bed and hastened into the next room. "Perkins," he cried, "are you ill?" "Is that you, Dawson?" came a voice from the darkness. "Yes. Did--did you put out the gas?" "No." "Are you ill?" "No; but I'm deuced uncomfortable What's this mattress stuffed with-- needles?" "Needles? No. It's a hair mattress. Isn't it all right?" "Not by a great deal. I feel as if I had been sleeping on a porcupine. Light up the gas and let's see what the trouble is." Dawson did as he was told, wondering meanwhile why the gas had gone out. No one had turned it out, and yet the key was unmistakably turned; and, what was worse, on ripping open Perkins's mattress, a most disquieting state of affairs was disclosed. _Every single hair in it was standing on end!_ A half-hour later four figures were to be seen wending their way northward through the darkness--two men, a huge mastiff, and a Chinaman. The group was made up of Dawson, his guest, his servant, and his dog. Dampmere was impossible; there was no train until morning, but not one of them was willing to remain a moment longer at Dampmere, and so they had to walk. "What do you suppose it was?" asked Perkins, as they left the third mile behind them.