"To be sure," I said aloud. "He might as well wear them now to the station. Just so he returns them when he gets his clothes." "Very good, sir," said O'Keefe, relieved. "We'll see he does that. Come along now, Braxton--_shut_ up, I tell you!" And with all four of them behind the charge, they managed to rush the loudly protesting old man to the door. "I _won't_ go without my clothes, I tell you," he raged. But he did. Fighting, swearing and protesting, the jolly old vagabond was roughly bundled into the elevator. "Good night, sir," called O'Keefe as the four of them dropped downward. "We'll let you know if it seems necessary to trouble you." Once again inside, Jenkins and I just stared at each other without a word, we were that tired and disgusted. To me, the only dashed crumb of comfort in the whole business was the wonderful fact that Billings seemed to have slept like a jolly Rip through the whole beastly row. Very softly I opened his door again, so that the breeze flowed through once more. Jenkins put out the lights, and I stood there listening, but could hear no sound within the room, for the street below was already heralding the clamor of the coming day. Jenkins' whisper brushed my ear as I moved away: "Sleeping like a baby, ain't he, sir?" CHAPTER XIII FRANCES By Jove, it seemed to me I had been asleep about a minute when I saw the sunlight splashing through the blinds. Jenkins stood beside me with something in his hand. "Didn't hear me, did you, sir?" he was asking. "I said I thought the address looked like Mr. Billings' handwriting. And he's gone, sir." "Gone?" I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I had a befogged notion that Jenkins looked a little queer. "Yes, sir. He's not in his room, nor in the apartment anywhere." "Eh--how--what's that?" For Jenkins' hand extended an envelope. "Perhaps you would like to read this now, sir." It was from Billings--I knew his fist in an instant. It was very short and without heading. In fact, above his name appeared just a half-dozen penciled words, heavily underscored, and without punctuation: Damn you send me my clothes "His clothes?" I looked perplexedly at Jenkins. He was looking a little pale and held his eyes fixedly to the picture molding across the room. He coughed gently. "Yes, sir," he uttered faintly; "they're in his room, but _he_ ain't." "By Jove!" I remarked helplessly. And just then I remembered something that brought me wide awake in an instant. I questioned eagerly: "I say--that desk lamp in there, Jenkins--did you switch it on in the night? And the doors I found open--know anything about them?" And Jenkins' blank expression was the reply. "By Jove, Jenkins!" I gasped. Jenkins compressed his lips. "Exactly, sir." "Er--what were you thinking, Jenkins?" I questioned desperately. And I think Jenkins' stolidity wavered before my anxious face.