Privately, I thought I _could_ beat it--by Jove, I was sure I could! I knew of a pair of pajamas worth a dashed sight more than money. And I wondered gloomily where they were. I had telephoned as soon as I stepped out at the Grand Central Station, and after a bit made them understand who I was and reminded them that the black pajamas had not been returned according to promise. And then they told me Foxy Grandpa had escaped, but as he had nothing else on, they felt sure of rounding him up as soon as he came out of his hiding-place--probably after dark. "By the way, old chap," puffed Billings, his poise and good humor improving under the spell of the cigar, "I was sorry to return the pajamas torn and dusty and wrinkled as they were. But you see, on account of the rubies, I was leary about having them pressed or fussed over. So I wrapped and sealed them myself, just as one does a jewel package. Got them, did you?" I stared at Billings through my glass. "Didn't you get them?" he questioned in alarm. "Yes, yes--it's all right, old chap," I said hastily and as pleasantly as I could. "Eugene delivered the box to Jenkins and I opened it myself. Thought it was--h'm--thought it was something else." Then I proceeded soothingly: "But you're just a little mistaken about the dust and wrinkles, old chap--and about them being torn. Ha, ha! Good joke!" But Billings' face was unresponsive. "Why, you goop," he said with cheerful contempt, "there's a triangular tear in the back of the coat you could stick your head through; and one of the sleeves is in ribbons." I just opened the drawer of the table and took out the box--glove box, I think it was--containing the pajamas. I had read something somewhere about the clearing effect--the reaction, and that sort of thing, produced sometimes by a shock. "See for yourself, old chap," I said gently. And I lifted out the gossamer fabrics and again spread their crimson glory under the lamp. Billings examined them eagerly, but just looked confounded. "Don't understand it," he said, biting his nails. "Why, hang it, they look smooth, too, as though never worn. And the rubies are all right, too." He rested his chin upon his hands and gloomed at the red sweep. I caught a few sentences of his mumbling. "By George, I'm half a mind to think there's something in the pajamas," he muttered--"something uncanny and disagreeable--something they're alive with!" I sprang up and back, overturning my chair. "Good heavens--oh, I say!" I exclaimed in consternation, as I fixed my glass on the garments. "It's your jail, then, you know--" His hand checked my reach to the bell push. "Don't be any more kinds of an ass than you can help, Dicky," he said with rude irritability. "I'm talking about something else; and I haven't got any jail, dammit! A station house isn't exactly a jail!"