The place was in complete darkness; the bar door was wide open.
Schmitz dragged Nickie through the bar, with much bumping and more breaking of glass, into a back compartment, and there he fumbled for matches, forgot his mission, and sang a German song very drearily, stopping suddenly to say: "Vere haf you gone mit yourseluf, mein goot friend?
Vot is der madder mit der lightness." He fumbled again.

Nickie was in no hurry, he had the gin bottle.
Schmitz found the matches, and lit a candle on the shelf.

He turned drunkenly towards Nickie, and beheld what must have been a strange and mysterious sight to a commonplace Dutchman in his own home.

Sitting on a chair facing him, with the gin bottle raised to his lips, was a mighty monkey--a great, red, hairy ape, as large as a man.
The publican scratched his head wonderingly.
"Mein gracious!" he said.
"Dot iss a sdrange ting dot haff happened mit you, Sharlie," he said, in a wondering, small voice.
"Sharlie!" he called.

"Sharlie!" The Missing Link gave no reply.
"Pless mein soul!" gasped the Dutchman.
Suddenly a gleam of intelligence shot through the publican's boosy gloom.
He pointed a finger straight at Nickie, lurched towards him, crossed the room in a stagger, and drove his inquiring digit against the mysterious visitor.