At the same moment old whiskers shoved his chair up to the table, switched on the reading-lamp and reached for a magazine. "I'm on, sir," whispered Jenkins, as I joined him and we stepped aside. "Hadn't I better ring up the janitor on my house 'phone?" "By Jove, the very thing!" I agreed. "For he'll know where this chap belongs. A fiver, tell him, if he gets a move on. Hurry!" I slipped back into the room as Jenkins disappeared. The jolly old barnacle had discarded his cigarette and was critically selecting a cigar from my humidor. "I don't see why the devil you don't go to bed," he said, fixing himself comfortably with two chairs and lighting up. "I--I'm not sleepy," I stammered, perching on the corner of a chair. "I believe you're lying," he growled, scowling at me; "but if you're not sleepy, listen to this joke here--it's a chestnut, but it's infernally good." I never did know what the joke was, for I was listening for other sounds as he read. Suddenly I heard a whistle far down in the street; and I thought it was followed by a patter of running feet. Then came the quivering rhythm of the elevator rapidly ascending, and while the anecdote was still being droned out between chuckles, I slipped out again into the hall and rejoined Jenkins. "Janitor says there's no such tenant in this building as I described," Jenkins imparted hurriedly. "Might be a guest, of course; but he doesn't remember ever seeing him. So he whistled for a cop, to be on the safe side, and caught two. Here they are, sir." Out from the elevator sprang the janitor, half-dressed and looking excited. Close on his heels came two big policemen. I stepped into the outer corridor and explained the situation. The officers nodded reassuringly. "'Nough said," one of them commented. "We'll have him out, sir." The janitor, who had been cautiously sighting through the door within, came running out. "He shifted around while I was looking, and I got a good look at him," he said with some excitement, "and I never saw him before. I wouldn't forget _that_ mug!" "Suppose you take a squint at him yourself, O'Keefe," suggested the taller of the coppers. "You've been on this beat so long." In a minute or two O'Keefe came slipping back hurriedly. He drew his companion aside. "Tell you what, Tim," I heard him say, "do you know, I'm after thinking it looks like old Braxton, known in the perfesh as 'Foxy Grandpa.' He's a swell con man, but has just finished a stretch at Copper John's for going through a flat in the Bronx. He's done murder once." The other turned to me. "May save a muss in your rooms if you'll just kinder call him out, sir," he suggested. "It will be simpler." He grinned significantly and glanced at his night stick. "By Jove!" I ejaculated, looking at Jenkins. "By Jove, you know!" Jenkins coughed. "Just say you want to speak to him a minute, sir," he said. "They'll do the rest--h'm!"