eft, and then proceeding by a long, low
passage, round more than one corner, to what he conceived to be a wing
of the house. The servant ushered him into a room--and, in despite of
himself, he sighed with pleasure at the sight of it. The prettiest and
most charming of rooms it seemed to him to be--spacious and quaintly
rambling in shape, with a delicately-figured chintz repeating the dainty
effects of the walls upon the curtains and carpet and bed-hangings and
chair-covers, and with a bright fire in the grate throwing its warm,
cozy glow over everything. He looked at the pictures on the walls, at
the photographs and little ornaments on the writing desk, and the high
posts and silken coverlet of the big bed, and, secure in the averted
face of the servant, smiled richly to himself.

This servant, kneeling, had unstrapped and opened the new bags. Thorpe
looked to see him quit the room, this task accomplished, and was
conscious of something like dismay at the discovery that he intended to
unpack them as well. Pangbourn began gravely to unwrap one paper parcel
after another and to assort their contents in little heaps on the sofa
beside him. He did it deftly, imperturbably, as if all the gentlemen he
had ever seen carried their belongings in packages done up by tradesmen.

Thorpe's impulse to bid him desist framed itself in words on the tip of
his tongue--but he did not utter these words. After circling idly, hands
in pockets, about the man and the bags for a little time, he invented
something which it seemed better for him to say.

"I don't know what you'll be able to make of those things," he remarked,
casually. "My man has been buying them today--and I don't know what he
mayn't have forgotten. My whole outfit of that sort of thing went astray
or was stolen at some station or other--the first part of the week--I
think it must have been Leeds."

"Yes, sir," said Pangbourn, without emotion. "They're very careless,
sir."

He went on impassively, shaking out the black garments and spreading
them on the bed, laying out a shirt and tie beside them, and arranging
the razors, strop, and brushes on the dressing-table. He seemed to
foresee everything--for there was not an instant's hesitation in the
clock-like assiduity of his movements, as he bestowed handkerchiefs, in
one drawer, socks in another, hung pyjamas before the fire, and set
the patent-leather pumps against the fender. Even the old Mexican
shooting-suit seemed in no