“Would be all the better for us, if it were really so,” observed Dan. And to Bob: “You think that we think you’re a burglar?” “Don’t you? Didn’t you say something about locking me up?” “But not in a jail.” Bob stared. “What then?” “A sanatorium.” “Sanatorium?” “For the insane.” “You mean—?” “You’re crazy,” said Dan. “That’s the ticket. Dickie found out, up at Mrs. Ralston’s.” “Oh, Dickie did?” said Bob, looking at that young gentleman with lowering brows. “You bet I did,” returned Dickie. “I put in a good day,” viciously, “while you were fishing.” “Yes,” corroborated the commodore, “Dickie found a dozen people who think you’re dottie on the crumpet, all right.” Bob folded his arms, still regarding Dickie. “You know what I’ve a mind to do to you?” “Hold on!” said Dan hastily. “This matter’s got to be handled tactfully. We can’t, any one of us, give way to our personal feelings, however much we may want to. Let’s be businesslike. Eh, Clarence? Businesslike.” “Sure,” said Clarence faintly. But Dickie, standing behind the commodore and Clarence, said something about tact being a waste of time in some cases. He said it in such a sneering nasty way that Bob breathed deep. “I’ve simply got to spank that little rooster,” he muttered. But again the commodore smoothed things over. “Shut up, Dickie,” he said angrily. “You’ll spoil all. I’m sure Bob wants to help us out, if he can. He knows it’s really up to him, to do so. Bob’s a good sport.” It was an awful effort for the commodore to appear nice and amiable, but he managed to, for the moment. “You will help us out, won’t you?” he added, placing velvety fingers on Bob’s arm. But Bob with a vigorous swing shook off those fingers. He didn’t intend being taken into custody. Dan and the others might as well understand that, first as last. The commodore’s voice grew more appealing. “Don’t you see you’re being crazy will account for everything?” “Oh, will it?” In a still small voice. “Miss Gwendoline asked me if you’d showed signs before coming down here?” piped up Dickie. And again Bob breathed deep. Then his thoughts floated away. Dickie was too insignificant to bother with. “Hallucinations!” observed the commodore briskly. “Fits you to a T!” Bob didn’t answer. He was trying to think if _she_—Miss Gwendoline—hadn’t said something about hallucinations? “You simply imagined all those things you confided to Mrs. Dan. You didn’t mean to tell what wasn’t so, but you couldn’t help yourself. You really believed it all, at the time. You are irresponsible.” “Maybe you’ll tell me next there isn’t any Gee-gee,” said Bob. “Also, that Miss Gid-up is but an empty coinage of the brain?” “No, we’ll do better than that. The existence of a Gee-gee accounts, in part, for your condition. First stage, Gee-gee on the brain; then, brain-storm! Gee-gee is part of your obsession!”