"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.