"Well, upon my word! Of all the--excuse me, Lightnut!" He wiped his forehead, his glance abstracted and scowling. "Somebody is putting this fool up to this--somebody trying to annoy me!" He uttered a short laugh that was more of a snort. "There's some fool lunatic down in New York that they've arrested and he's got a bug that he's my son! This is the second offense. Caused me to lose two hours from my office yesterday in the city and upset me for the whole day! And me so busy! busy!"--his hands lifted toward the papers on the table--"so busy I can hardly"--another snort, and he relighted his cigar, puffing savagely--"looks like there's just one fool thing after another interrupting me or absorbing my time!" "Jolly shame, you know!" I responded, dropping sympathetically into a chair. I pushed the papers to one side so I could rest my elbow on the table edge; besides, I saw they were fretting him--could tell by his glances, you know. For another thing, I had got hold of a devilish shrewd idea I wanted to break to him--about this chap who was pretending to be his son. I remembered that the old rascal who had invaded my rooms had tried to make me believe that _I_ was his bosom friend. "Oh, I say, you know," I began, declining a cigar and selecting a cigarette from my case, "I've an idea!" And I faced him impressively. "You've _what_?"--he straightened forward, with a kind of twisted smile--interested, you know--"whatever makes you think _that_, my boy?" I waited, sending a long, thin smoke funnel upward. Kept him expectant, you see, and gave me time to get hold of the corners of the jolly thing myself. Catch the point? So devilish important when you have to lift an idea, don't you know. "Rather fancy your chap's the same one I know of," I drawled, "an oldish duffer--white mutton-chops--beefy sort of face--sunburn line and baldish--all that sort of thing!" "Well, by-y-y George!"--he slapped his hand down--"I should say that _was_ a real idea! And you say you know this crazy fool?" "Crazy? He's not crazy!" I exclaimed indignantly, thinking of her pajamas. "And he's no more _fool_ than I am!" He fell back with a grunt. "Oh, well, I _know_--but--" He coughed. By Jove, he seemed disappointed, somehow! I proceeded calmly: "Real truth is, the beggar's a notorious criminal, known to the police as Foxy Grandpa--pretends all sorts of things about people, don't you know." "My dear Lightnut,"--he was staring at me, mouth distended--"why--how the devil do _you_ know this?" I inhaled deliberately. "Awfully simple, don't you know," I responded quietly; and I let him wait till I had blown six rings. "Fact is, _I'm_ the one sent him to jail!" "You!"--his laugh was frankly amused, incredulous. "Oh, yes!"--carelessly--"found the fellow thieving in my rooms the other night and called in police--oh, they recognized him in a minute!"