Chapter XXII—Detective Work

It was on my arm. When I rolled up my sleeve, S. K. gasped. “I’ll give up,” he said. “There _is_ something supernatural about it!” “No,” I replied, trying to quote from him, “there is always some logical and sane explanation of things of this sort. You see, I put it there.” He said, “You little devil!” and then he smiled unwillingly. “Think you’re funny, don’t you?” he continued. I said I hoped so, for I was trying to be, and then I told him why I had deceived him; about Mr. Bilkins, and how, if he were not around,…