"Why, do you know," I said pleasantly, "I just chucked him down into the street." It sounded like a cannon cracker, that gun! The shower of splintered glass from the picture between the windows barely missed me. But I never waited a second--for this last devilish straw was too much, don't you know, and something had to be done. I leaped for the weapon as it struck the hardwood floor between us, jerked from Jenkins' hand by the unfamiliar upward kick. Another instant and I was poking the muzzle into his side. "I've just had enough of this, you fool!" I cried impatiently. "Here, take a good look at me!" I pushed my face closer. "Look at me, I tell you!" By Jove, he shuddered! His eyes, wide distended with terror, rolled to the ceiling. "I can't," he whispered; "I just can't--anything but that! Only, please--please don't kill me, too." "Kill you?" I said, frowning sternly as he gave a furtive glance. "I certainly will, if you don't take a good look at me!" He gave a sort of despairing sigh and closed his eyes so tightly the lashes disappeared. "All right, then," he said sullenly; "you may kill me!" The way with these lunatics, I thought. Next thing, he would be begging and insisting that I kill him. I motioned to the door of my guest-room and gave him a push. "In there," I said, "and keep perfectly quiet." And as he shot inside, I closed the door and locked it. I just had to take the chance of his hurting himself against the walls and furniture; I didn't believe he was so crazy he would undertake the six-story leap to the ground. Listening, I heard something like a sob. Then I caught my name. "Poor Mr. Lightnut," came chokingly; "the kindest, gentlest master!" And then more sobs and gulps. By Jove, under his insane delusion, the poor beggar was grieving for me; not thinking of himself at all, you know. I felt my eyes grow a bit moist, somehow, and all at once my heart went heavy. Thought how long poor old Jenkins had been with me--ever since I was out of college, you know--five years--and remembered how devilish faithful and attached he had always been. Poor old Jenks! It was awful his going off this way! I recalled how he had taken to seeing things, earlier in the evening, and had made me see them, too, dash it! One thing I determined: whatever had to be done with him, he should have the finest of attention. I knew that I ought to telephone to somebody or something, but dashed if I had any idea who or where. Oddly enough, not a soul seemed to have been roused by the pistol shot, but I saw by the little clock that it was close to three--the hour in a bachelor apartment house when everybody is asleep, if they're going to sleep at all. I decided that the best thing to do first was to get into some clothes. And with this thought I was turning away, when it occurred to me to make an effort to see if poor Jenkins seemed more rational now or had gone to sleep. I tapped upon the door. "Are you asleep?" I asked softly.