“Oh, Griggs, Griggs, Griggs!” moaned the inventor. “Come quick! Get my wife! I'm done for this time! He's finished me!”
“Hawkins!” I cried, shaking him. “Did he——”
“Never mind him—let him escape,” replied Hawkins, faintly. “Just get my wife before I go. Good-by, old friend, good-by.”
“Mr.—'Awkins!” gasped the butler, his senses returning.
“What!” shrilled the inventor, sitting bolt upright, black eyes, swelled face, and all completely forgotten. “Is that you, William?”
“Yes, sir,” stammered the man. “Was—was it you I hit, sir?”
“Was it!” yelled Hawkins, struggling to his feet. “Look at this face! What the deuce did you mean by it?”
“Beg—beg pardon, sir, but did you—did you sorter strike me with a chair, sir?”
“I—well, yes, William, I did.”
“Well, I, not knowing of course as it was you, sir, I sorter hit back. But have you got the thief, sir?”