"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.
"It ain't for me to be thinking anything, sir—besides, the messenger's waiting—but—" His hand sought his pocket.
He stepped back, leaving something on the stand by my bed.
"What's that?" I questioned in alarm. "Another note?"
"No, sir—not exactly, sir. But if I may suggest—without offense, sir—that you fill it out, I will see that it gets to him."
"Him? Who's him—he, I mean?"
"Doctor Splasher, sir, the temperance party I was speaking of. I've already filled out mine, and I'm going to put one in for Mr. Billings when I send the clothes." From the doorway he turned a woebegone countenance toward me. "It's heartrending, sir—if I may be permitted to say so—to think of a nice gentleman like Mr. Billings wandering over to the club with nothing on but red pajamas."