"And if you don't like it let's hear you suggest a way of getting that ticket off of that guy upstairs. Maybe you'd like to go up and have a talk with him? If he's feeling anything like the way I felt when I came to after those kayo drops of yours, he'll be glad to see you. What does it matter to you if he pulls your head off and drops it out of the window? You can only live once, so what the hell!" Mr. Molloy gazed dismally before him. Never a very inventive man, his bicycle ride had left him even less capable of inspiration than usual. He had to admit himself totally lacking in anything resembling a constructive plan of campaign. He yearned for his dear wife's gentle presence. Dolly was the bright one of the family. In a crisis like this she would have been full of ideas, each one a crackerjack. "We can't keep him locked up in that room for ever," he said unhappily. "We don't have to--not if you agree to my seventy-thirty." "Have you thought of a way, then?" "Sure I've thought of a way." Mr. Molloy's depression became more marked than ever. He knew what this meant. The moment he gave up the riddle that miserable little Chimp would come out with some scheme which had been staring him in the face all along, if only he had had the intelligence to see it. "Well?" said Chimp. "Think quick. And remember, thirty's better than nothing. And don't say, when I've told you, that it's just the idea you've had yourself from the start." Mr. Molloy urged his weary brain to one last spurt of activity, but without result. He was a specialist. He could sell shares in phantom oil wells better than anybody on either side of the Atlantic, but there he stopped. Outside his specialty he was almost a total loss. "All right, Chimpie," he sighed, facing the inevitable. "Seventy-thirty?" "Seventy-thirty. Though how I'm to break it to the madam, I don't know. She won't like it, Chimpie. It'll be a nasty blow for the madam." "I hope it chokes her," said Chimp, unchivalrously. "Her and her lilies! Well, then. Here's what we do. When Flannery takes the guy his coffee and eggs to-morrow, there'll be something in the pot besides coffee. There'll be some of those kayo drops of yours. And then all we have to do is just simply walk upstairs and dig the ticket out of his clothes and there we are." Mr. Molloy uttered an agonized cry. His presentiment had been correct. "I'd have thought of that myself ..." he wailed. "Sure you would," replied Chimp, comfortably, "if you'd of had something that wasn't a hubbard squash or something where your head ought to be. Those just-as-good imitation heads never pay in the long run. What you ought to do is sell yours for what it'll fetch and get a new one. And next time," said Chimp, "make it a prettier one." CHAPTER XIII I