The Haunted Pajamas
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"Did you ring, sir?" he inquired, and advanced quickly.
And then, before I could think about it to reply, he halted suddenly, almost pitching forward. Then, with a kind of wheezy howl, he sprang to the wall. Next instant, I was blinking under the dazzling electrolier.
"Here, I say! Shut off that light!" I remonstrated, half blinded.
I heard a swift rush across the rugs, and the next thing I knew I was roughly jerked from out my chair; strong fingers clutched my throat, and I found myself glaring into a frightened but resolute face.
"Jen-Jenkins!" I tried to gasp, but only a gurgle came.
I was so taken unawares, I knew it must be some dashed dream. Perhaps another minute, and I would wake up. But he gripped me tighter and shook me like a rag.
"Say, who are you?" he hissed. "How did you get in here?"
And then, of course, I knew that he was crazy. Whether he was crazy in a dream or crazy with me awake, I couldn't guess. It made very little difference, anyhow, for I knew that in another minute I should be either dream dead or real dead; and dash me if I could see any odds worth tossing for in either, you know.
But I don't belong to the athletic club quite for nothing, and have managed to pick up a few tricks, you know. So with the decision to chuck the dream theory, I shot my leg forward with a mix-up and twist that made Jenkins loosen his clutch and stagger backward.
"What's the matter with you?" I gasped, advancing toward him. "Are you trying to murder me?" But I was so hoarse, the only word that came out plainly was "murder."
Jenkins uttered a howl. "Help, Mr. Lightnut! Murder!"
"You old fool!" I cried, exasperated. "Come here!"
He was coming. He seized a light chair and swung it behind his head. Then he rushed me with a shout.
"Oh, Mr. Lightnut!"
"Gone clear off his nut!" was my thought. As he swung the chair, I ducked low, and man and chair went crashing to the floor. But he was up again in a jiffy and dancing at me.
"Mr. Lightnut, sir, why don't you help me?"
"Help you – you jolly idiot?" I muttered indignantly. Then my voice raised: "I've a mind to kill you!"
With a yell, he made a kangaroo jump and swung at me again.
"He says he's going to kill me, Mr. Lightnut!" he panted as I dodged again. "Help me – wake up, sir!"
Wake up? Wake up, indeed, when I had never been so devilish wide awake in all my life! I was sure now about that. I moved toward him cautiously.
"Stop your row!" I cried angrily; "you'll have somebody in. Think I want the police up here?"
With a glare at me, Jenkins darted past me to the bedroom I had just left. Its light switch clicked, and then back through the brightened doorway he sprang and dashed for a wall cabinet at the side. He began tugging at its little drawer. And suddenly I remembered the revolver there, an old forty-five from a friend in Denver – and loaded!
My spring to intercept him was quick, but not quick enough. Half-way to him I pulled up under the compelling argument of the long blue barrel pointed at my head.
"Here! Look out, you fool – it's loaded!" I warned, backing away to the window.
Jenkins advanced. "What have you done with him?" he panted hoarsely. "Where is he?"
"Where's who?" I asked savagely, for I was getting devilish tired of it all. But for the publicity, I should have yelled from the window.
"Where's Mr. Lightnut?" he demanded.
"Oh, he's all right." I decided to adopt that soothing tone that I had read somewhere was the proper caper with lunatics.
"Where?" Jenkins insisted, pushing nearer.
And dashed if I knew what to answer; for, if I made a mistake, it might be serious, by Jove! Perhaps some jocular reply would be safest – might divert his attention, you know.
The open window gave me an idea.
"Why, do you know," I said pleasantly, "I just chucked him down into the street."
It sounded like a cannon cracker, that gun! The shower of splintered glass from the picture between the windows barely missed me. But I never waited a second – for this last devilish straw was too much, don't you know, and something had to be done. I leaped for the weapon as it struck the hardwood floor between us, jerked from Jenkins' hand by the unfamiliar upward kick. Another instant and I was poking the muzzle into his side.
"I've just had enough of this, you fool!" I cried impatiently. "Here, take a good look at me!" I pushed my face closer. "Look at me, I tell you!"
By Jove, he shuddered! His eyes, wide distended with terror, rolled to the ceiling.
"I can't," he whispered; "I just can't – anything but that! Only, please – please don't kill me, too."
"Kill you?" I said, frowning sternly as he gave a furtive glance. "I certainly will, if you don't take a good look at me!"
He gave a sort of despairing sigh and closed his eyes so tightly the lashes disappeared. "All right, then," he said sullenly; "you may kill me!"
The way with these lunatics, I thought. Next thing, he would be begging and insisting that I kill him. I motioned to the door of my guest-room and gave him a push.
"In there," I said, "and keep perfectly quiet."
And as he shot inside, I closed the door and locked it. I just had to take the chance of his hurting himself against the walls and furniture; I didn't believe he was so crazy he would undertake the six-story leap to the ground. Listening, I heard something like a sob. Then I caught my name.
"Poor Mr. Lightnut," came chokingly; "the kindest, gentlest master!" And then more sobs and gulps.
By Jove, under his insane delusion, the poor beggar was grieving for me; not thinking of himself at all, you know. I felt my eyes grow a bit moist, somehow, and all at once my heart went heavy. Thought how long poor old Jenkins had been with me – ever since I was out of college, you know – five years – and remembered how devilish faithful and attached he had always been. Poor old Jenks! It was awful his going off this way! I recalled how he had taken to seeing things, earlier in the evening, and had made me see them, too, dash it! One thing I determined: whatever had to be done with him, he should have the finest of attention.
I knew that I ought to telephone to somebody or something, but dashed if I had any idea who or where. Oddly enough, not a soul seemed to have been roused by the pistol shot, but I saw by the little clock that it was close to three – the hour in a bachelor apartment house when everybody is asleep, if they're going to sleep at all.
I decided that the best thing to do first was to get into some clothes. And with this thought I was turning away, when it occurred to me to make an effort to see if poor Jenkins seemed more rational now or had gone to sleep.
I tapped upon the door. "Are you asleep?" I asked softly.
A howl of positive terror came back.
"I'm a-keeping quiet," he cried, "but don't let me hear your voice again, or I'll jump right out of the window."
I shook my head sadly and tiptoed into my room, where I slipped hurriedly out of the pajamas and into some clothes; then back I went to the telephone. It was on my little writing-desk close to the door confining Jenkins.
I lifted the receiver with a sigh.
"Hello, central," I began, responding to the operator. "I say, will you give me 'information?'"
A loud shout suddenly sounded from behind the closed door, and there came a frantic double-pounding of fists.
"Mr. Lightnut – Mr. Lightnut!" screamed Jenkins. "Oh, Mr. Lightnut, you're back – you're alive – I can hear your voice! This is Jenkins, Mr. Lightnut; yes, sir, Jenkins. They've got me locked in!"
I clapped the receiver on the hook and sprang to the door, unlocking it. Jenkins almost tumbled into my arms. By Jove, for a second I hung in the wind, he acted so crazy still; at least, it seemed so just at first. The fellow threw his arm about my neck and laughed – laughed and cried, dash it – and just wringing my hands and carrying on – Oh, awful! And even when I got him into a chair, he just sat there laughing and crying like a jolly old silly, patting my hand, you know, and wiping his eyes, what time they were not devouring me.
"Has he gone, sir?" he gasped huskily. "Did he jump from the window?" But I waved all questions aside.
"After you've had some sleep," I insisted. "Then I'll tell you the whole jolly story." And I just got him to his room myself, despite his distress and protests over my attention.
"Thank you, sir, and good night," he said as I left him. And he murmured placidly, "I guess we're all right now."
But I was not so sure as to him, when I viewed the broken chair and scattered fragments of glass – ominous reminders of the scene through which I had passed. And so, though I threw the pistol on top of a bookcase, I spent the rest of the night upon the soft cushions of my big divan.
CHAPTER IV
JENKINS DECLARES FOR THE WATER WAGON
"But this savage-looking Chinaman that you saw, Jenkins – how was he dressed?" I adopted a careless tone of inquiry.
It was high noon, and I was toying with an after luncheon, or rather after breakfast, cigar.
Jenkins' head shook dubiously. "I just remember something blackish. My, sir, I didn't have time to notice nothing like clothes!"
His tone conveyed aggrieved protest. He went on:
"Just as I'm telling you, sir, I saw some one sitting there by the window and walked toward him, thinking it was you. Then, all of a sudden, I see his awful face a scowling at me there in the moonlight."
"And he was smoking, you say?"
Jenkins sniffed indignantly. "Free and easy as a lord, sir! He held a long stick to his ugly mouth, and smoke was curling out of a little bowl near the end."
"Oh, opium pipe, eh?"
"Likely, sir," agreed Jenkins; "but I never saw one."
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."
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.
"I see," I broke in carelessly; "and then you demanded to know where I was – that it? Then you backed him to that window, and he told you he had chucked me into the street – whereupon you tried to blow off his head and knocked the jolly daylights out of the lady with the fencing foil."
Jenkins, his mouth agape, viewed me with distended eyes.
"I didn't tell you that, sir," he faltered. "How – "
"And when you dropped the weapon," I went on, "this chap collared it, jabbed the beastly thing into you, and told you to look at him. And by Jove you wouldn't!"
Jenkins groaned slightly. The apologetic cough with which he strove to mantle the sound was dry and spiritless.
"No, sir; it seemed easier to die, sir," he murmured – "what with him grinning like a fiend and his long teeth a-sticking out over his lip – ugh!" Then he added wonderingly: "But what gets me is how you should know, sir."
I looked at him gravely.
"Jenkins," I said gently, "I know, because it so happens I was here all the time."
His eyes bulged incredulously.
"You, sir? You mean in this room?"
I nodded slowly. "I mean right in this room – I was a witness of the whole thing."
Jenkins just gulped. I motioned to a chair.
"You may sit down, Jenkins, my poor fellow," I said compassionately. I poured out some whisky and gave it to him.
"Yes, yes; I want you to drink that," I insisted as he took it hesitatingly. "You will need it. Drink every drop of it."
And I watched him do it. For somehow the poor devil seemed to be growing paler every minute, and I was afraid the shock of what I was going to say would send him into a swoon.
Jenkins replaced the empty glass with a positively trembling hand. By Jove, his face turned a kind of asparagus yellow.
It alarmed me a little, for I felt apprehensive that perhaps it was time for him to have another spell, you know. Of course, I knew that the devilishly adroit, tactful way I was breaking it to him wouldn't disturb the peace of a baby. Some people would have gone about the thing in some deuced abrupt way, don't you know, and alarmed him. I didn't want to do that – in fact, I took pains to tell him so at the start.
"I don't want to frighten you, my poor fellow," I said, leaning toward him and speaking in a low, earnest voice – just that way, you know – no excitement. "You mustn't let anything I say frighten you badly about yourself."
"No, sir. Thank you, sir." But I could hardly hear him.
I waited a moment, eying him steadily – just doing it all in that calm way, you know – and then:
"You must brace yourself for a great shock, my poor Jenkins," I said soothingly. And then I thought I had best hurry on, for I could tell by the way his eyes rolled and the blue color of his lips that probably I was just in time to head off another attack. And then I told him all.
"And here," I concluded, "are the marks of your fingers under my collar, and the pistol is on top of the bookcase."
Jenkins just sat there, kind of huddled up, you know, and his face as white as the what-you-call-it snow. Didn't seem able to say a word. By Jove, it was too much for me; my heart just went out to him.
"It's all right, Jenkins," I said kindly, and I patted his knee. "Doesn't make a jolly bit of difference to me, personally. Just told you because I thought you ought to know. You just go right along and continue your duties, so far as I am concerned."
Jenkins' hand slipped along his knee and ventured to touch mine timidly. He rose heavily.
"Mr. Lightnut, sir," he said huskily, "if you're not going to need me very much, could I be excused for a while to-night?"
"By Jove, yes, Jenkins! Go out and enjoy the evening; it will do you good. Stay as long as you like, dash it! You know I dine to-night at the club. Go to a roof garden and get some fresh air."
A toss of the head broke Jenkins' calm; his fist struck his palm.
"It ain't that, sir," he exclaimed. "I don't want no fresh air, but I do want fresh resolution and a fresh start. I'm going to find him."
"Him!" I was startled. Dash me, I half thought he meant the Chinaman.
"Him, sir; that temperance lecturer, I mean. I'm going to get out a paper against that old enemy there!" And he shook his fist at the whisky decanter.
CHAPTER V
THE GIRL FROM RADCLIFFE
"Long distance call from Mr. Billings, sir," said Jenkins, lifting the receiver.
By Jove, he had just caught me as I was about to leave.
"Hello! That you, Lightnut?" came his voice. "Say, old chap, you remember you said you wouldn't mind putting up the kid overnight on the way home from college. Remember? Wants to rest over and come up the river on the day line."
Yes, I remembered, and said so.
"All right, then; it's to-night. Be there about nine from Boston. Don't go to any trouble, now, nor alter any plans. The kid will probably be dead tired and off to bed before you get home from your dinner."
"That's all right, old chap; Jenkins will look after the young one."
I heard Billings chuckle – I remembered that chuckle afterward.
"Not much of the young one there. Eighteen, you know. Never off to school, though, until last year – and by George, it was time! Between my mother and my sister the kid was being absolutely ruined – petted, mollycoddled, and was getting soft and silly – oh, something to make you sick. Well, so much obliged, Dicky. You know what these hotels are. Good-by."
I explained to Jenkins. "All right, sir," he said. "I won't go out until after nine. It'll be time enough."
And so I went off. I returned early, about ten, and sat reading. Jenkins was still away, and the door of my guest room was open.
"Good evening!"
The voice behind me was soft, musical, delicious.
I whirled about, and there, within the door, leaning against the frame, was the most beautiful creature I ever saw in all my life.
A girl! But oh, by Jove, such a girl! A lovely, rosy blonde, dash it! Golden-haired angel – long, droopy kind of lashes, don't you know – eyes like dreamy sapphire seas – oh, that sort of thing – a peach!
The leap that brought me to my feet sent my chair thudding backward.
"Why – er – good evening," I managed to stammer. Just managed, you know, for, give you my word, I never was so bowled over in my life – never! And on the instant I guessed what it meant. The "kid" that Billings referred to wasn't a kid brother at all, but was a kid sister – girl, by Jove!
"Are you busy?" I saw the flash of her perfect little teeth as her lips parted in a smile. "If not, may I talk to you a while?"
I mumbled something designed to be pleasant – dash me if I know what – and managed to summon sense enough to lift toward her a wicker arm-chair. Then I dashed into my bedroom to chuck the smoking-jacket and get into a coat. And all the while I was thinking harder than I ever had thought it possible.
Just the thing to have expected of an ass like Billings – a fellow with no sense of the proprieties! His kind of mind had never got any further than the fact that I had a guest-room and a quiet apartment. The further fact that it was in a bachelor apartment house and I a bachelor – and not yet out of my twenties, dash it – would never have presented itself to a chump like Billings as having any bearing on the matter.
"Of course, I must get right over to the club and leave her in possession – it's the only thing left to do." This was my thought as I slipped into my coat and gave my hair a touch – just a touch, don't you know. The thing to do was to carry it off as naturally as possible for a few minutes, and then slip away. Probably she hadn't counted upon my being in town at all – had taken it for granted it was some sort of family apartment – with housekeeper, servant maids, all that sort of thing.
"Never mind," I thought, as I kicked off my half-shoes and jerked on the first things at hand. "Thing to do now is to keep that child's mind from being distressed. She'll have a good sleep and get off early in the morning on the Albany boat. Don't suppose she'd understand, anyhow – sweet, innocent, unsophisticated thing like that. What a fool Billings is!"
And I jammed in savagely the turquoise matrix pin with which I was replacing the pearl, because it went better with my tie.
"Now, just a few minutes of conversation to put her at her ease," I reflected, "and then I'm off. I'll get the janitor's wife to come up and stay near her."
And I dashed back, murmuring some jolly rubbish of apology. And then I just brought up speechless – almost fell over backward. For as she stood there under the light, I saw that what I had taken for a dress of black silk was not a dress at all, but a suit of pajamas – black, filmy pajamas, whose loose elegance concealed but could not wholly deny the goddess-like figure within.
"I'd have known you anywhere, Mr. Lightnut." And then I found that we were shaking hands, my fingers crushed in a grasp I never could have thought possible from that tiny hand. "From hearing Jack talk, your name is a sort of household word in the Billings family."
I mumbled something jolly idiotic – some acknowledgment. But I was pink about the ears, and I knew it, while she was cool and serene as a lily of the what-you-call-it, don't you know. I was trying not to see the pajamas, trying to pretend not to notice them, but dashed if I didn't only make it worse!
For she looked down at herself with a laugh – rather an embarrassed laugh, I thought; and her little shrug and glance directed attention to her attire.
"I see you're looking at the pajamas," she said smiling.
And her eyes looked at me through those drooping lashes – oh, such a way!
"Oh, no – I assure – certainly not," I stammered hastily. Dash it, I never was so rebuked and mortified in all my life. What an ass I had been to seem to notice at all!
She looked troubled. "Say, do you mind my wearing them?" she inquired.
"I? Certainly not – well, I should say not!" I retorted, almost with indignation.
"Sure?" By Jove, what ripping eyes she had!
"Of course not!" emphatically.
Her sunny head nodded satisfaction. "That's all right, then. I was afraid you wouldn't like it – afraid you would think I was acting a little free. But your man Jenkins – isn't that his name? – said he thought you would like for me to wear them."
I gasped.
"Jen – what's that?" I was amazed, indignant at Jenkins' effrontery. "He – he suggested that you wear – er – these?"
She nodded, her glorious eyes shining wistfully.
"You see, I went to a frat dance last night in Cambridge," she explained; "and in the hurry this morning, somehow, one of my bags – a suit-case – was left behind. And when I got here to-night and began piling the things out of my other bag – well, I saw I was up a tree. Not a thing to slip into, you know – not so much as a dressing-gown or even a bathrobe. Then your man saved my life – suggested these pajamas. See?"
"Oh, I see!"
I said so; but, dash it, I wasn't sure I did, for I knew so devilish little about girls. But I got hold of this much: I understood that this delicately reared creature had missed the restfulness and luxury of a shift to some sort of dressing-robe after her day of travel. Probably one of those ribbony, pinky-white fripperies one sees in the windows of the Avenue shops, rosy, foamy dreams like the – well, like the crest of a soda cocktail, don't you know. And the pajamas had been adopted as a comfortable makeshift.
By Jove! And here she was sitting, calmly telling me all about it – just as she might to Jack – never thinking a thing about it! My, how charming, how innocent she was! But, dash it, that was the reason she was so beautiful – of course, that was it – and I had never seen anybody like her in all the world before. I knew jolly well I never should again, either. But I knew I ought to go – and at once.