"Might be well to take a look around, sir, and see if you think of anything else he's stolen, before we take him off."
"Good idea, Lightnut!" Old Braxton stopped struggling and whirled his head toward me, his face almost black with rage. "Ha, ha! Why don't you have me searched? There's not a pocket in these damn pajamas!"
"Anything whatever, sir, we'll have him leave behind," said O'Keefe.
"By Jove!" I don't know how I ever managed to say it. Fact is, things had just suddenly spun round before me like a merry what's-its-name. For I did recognize something! The old fellow's unabashed reference to pajamas was what brought it to my attention.
"Ha!" O'Keefe nodded. "There is something! Just say the word, sir."
I looked helplessly at Jenkins, and then I saw that of a sudden he recognized them, too. His eyes rolled at me understandingly.
"What is it, sir?" demanded O'Keefe respectfully. "The law requires—"
I swallowed hard. "It—it's the pajamas," I said faintly.
The old rascal uttered a roar and tried to get at me.
"You cold-blooded scoundrel!" he bellowed. "So this is why—"