odours, Johnny paused and tried to think.

"What the devil did I do with that umbrella? I had it--no, I didn't.
Must have dropped it, I suppose, when that silly ass tried to stop me. By
Jove! I am having luck!"

Outside another restaurant in the Strand Johnny paused again. "How am I
to live till Sunday night? Where am I to sleep? If I telegraph
home--damn it! how can I telegraph? I haven't got a penny. This is
funny," said Johnny, unconsciously speaking aloud; "upon my word, this is
funny! Oh! you go to--."

Johnny hurled this last at the head of an overgrown errand-boy whose
intention had been to offer sympathy.

"Well, I never!" commented a passing flower-girl. "Calls 'erself a lidy,
I suppose."

"Nowadays," observed the stud and button merchant at the corner of Exeter
Street, "they make 'em out of anything."

Drawn by a notion that was forming in his mind, Johnny turned his steps
up Bedford Street. "Why not?" mused Johnny. "Nobody else seems to have
a suspicion. Why should they? I'll never hear the last of it if they
find me out. But why should they find me out? Well, something's got to
be done."

Johnny walked on quickly. At the door of the Autolycus Club he was
undecided for a moment, then took his courage in both hands and plunged
through the swing doors.

"Is Mr. Herring--Mr. Jack Herring--here?"

"Find him in the smoking-room, Mr. Bulstrode," answered old Goslin, who
was reading the evening paper.

"Oh, would you mind asking him to step out a moment?"

Old Goslin looked up, took off his spectacles, rubbed them, put them on
again.

"Please say Miss Bulstrode--Mr. Bulstrode's sister."

Old Goslin found Jack Herring the centre of an earnest argument on
Hamlet--was he really mad?

"A lady to see you, Mr. Herring," announced old Goslin.

"A what?"

"Miss Bulstrode--Mr. Bulstrode's sister. She's waiting in the hall."

"Never knew he had a sister," said Jack Herring, rising.

"Wait a minute," said Harry Bennett. "Shut that door. Don't go." This
to old Goslin, who closed the door and returned. "Lady in a heliotrope
dress with a lace collar, three flounces on the skirt?"

"That's right, Mr. Bennett," agreed old Goslin.

"It's the Babe himself!" asserted Harry Bennett.

The question of Hamlet's madness was forgotten.

"Was in at Stinchcombe's this morning," explained Harry Bennett; "saw the
clothes on the counter addressed to him. That's the identical frock.
This is just