I slipped back into the room as Jenkins disappeared. The jolly old barnacle had discarded his cigarette and was critically selecting a cigar from my humidor.
"I don't see why the devil you don't go to bed," he said, fixing himself comfortably with two chairs and lighting up.
"I—I'm not sleepy," I stammered, perching on the corner of a chair.
"I believe you're lying," he growled, scowling at me; "but if you're not sleepy, listen to this joke here—it's a chestnut, but it's infernally good."
I never did know what the joke was, for I was listening for other sounds as he read. Suddenly I heard a whistle far down in the street; and I thought it was followed by a patter of running feet.
Then came the quivering rhythm of the elevator rapidly ascending, and while the anecdote was still being droned out between chuckles, I slipped out again into the hall and rejoined Jenkins.
"Janitor says there's no such tenant in this building as I described," Jenkins imparted hurriedly. "Might be a guest, of course; but he doesn't remember ever seeing him. So he whistled for a cop, to be on the safe side, and caught two. Here they are, sir."
Out from the elevator sprang the janitor, half-dressed and looking excited. Close on his heels came two big policemen.
I stepped into the outer corridor and explained the situation. The officers nodded reassuringly.
"'Nough said," one of them commented. "We'll have him out, sir."