"Dead?" she shrieked.

"No! Gone, I said--left the house. Out in the cold. Freezing.
Wandering about in the streets--"

"In--in his night clothes?" gasped his wife. "Don't tell me he has
gone into the street without--"

"Get up!" cried Mr. Bingle, making a dash for his own garments. "We
must do something. Let me think--give me time. Now what is the first
thing to do? Notify the police or--"

"IS HE DRESSED?" she demanded.

"Of course," he replied. "At least he took his clothes with him.
They're not in his bedroom."

"Well, ask the elevator boy. He'll know when he went out. Hurry up,
Thomas. Don't stop to put on a collar. Do hurry--"

"I'm not putting on a collar," came in smothered tones. "I'm putting
on a shirt."

He didn't quite have it on when Melissa appeared in the doorway, wide-
eyed and excited.

"Uncle Joe has disappeared, ma'am," she chattered. "I can't find hide
or hair of him. Did you call, Mr. Bingle, or was it--"