By Jove, I had my own opinion about that! I knew he _must_ have seen one before; but I just went on questioning, to gain time, you know, and wondering all the while how I should ever be able to break the truth to the poor fellow. "Tell me again what he was like," I said. "How did you know he was a Chinaman?" "Why, by his long black pigtail, sir, and his onery color. But I never saw no Chinaman as ugly as this one--no sir. Oh, he was just too awful horrid to look at, sir. His forehead sloped away back, or maybe the front part of his head being all shaved made it look that way. And the skin about his eyes was painted white with red streaks shooting around like rays of light." "No beard or mustache, I suppose?" I suggested, feeling my own smooth-shaven face. Jenkins' reply was a surprise: "Yes, sir; there were long black kind of rat tails that dropped down from the sides of his mouth. And then his neck--ugh--all thick with woolly hair." "Oh, it was, eh?" I said drily, thinking of the long red stripe that my collar concealed. "I suppose you felt this, eh, when you jumped at his throat?" Jenkins rubbed his chin with a puzzled air. "Why, that's uncommon queer, sir; but now that you remind me, I do remember that his neck felt perfectly smooth--and it wasn't so big, either. Why, I should say it felt just about like yours would, sir." [Illustration] I eyed him ruefully. "By Jove, I don't doubt it a minute!" I commented with some disgust. "See here, Jenkins, I suppose you've been to the Chinese theater down in Doyers Street, eh?" For I had been down there with slumming parties, and I remembered the hideous sorcerers, fierce warriors and kings the Chinks represent in their interminable plays. And the facial make-up described by Jenkins tallied in a way with some I recalled from these ancient, semi-mythical plays. But at my question, Jenkins' lip curled a little; dash me, but he looked almost insulted. "I should say not, sir," he said with a sniff; "you don't catch me going down in them parts!" He added quickly: "Meaning no offense, sir." "Sure?" I questioned sharply. "Never, sir!" Jenkins' earnestness was unmistakable. But of course I knew the poor fellow had forgotten all about it. "One of the jolly rum things that goes along with his affliction," I reflected sadly. "A month from now the poor beggar will be swearing he never saw me in his life." And how the devil was I going to break the truth to him? I sighed perplexedly. "Well, go on with your yarn," I said irresolutely. "You were telling, when I interrupted, about rushing into my bedroom." "Yes, sir," he resumed with animation. "And when I didn't find you, I was just frantic, for I didn't know you had gone out, sir--never thought of that; I went for the ugly monster with the big pistol there in the cabinet--which, by the way, sir, the low down villain stole when he locked me up and lit out." I had an inspiration.