straightening his tie, after which he made his way into the elaborate
dining-car and found a comfortable corner seat. The luxury of his
surroundings soothed his jagged nerves. The car was comfortably warmed,
the electric light upon his table was softly shaded. The steward who
waited upon him was swift-footed and obsequious, and seemed entirely
oblivious of Philip's shabby, half-soaked clothes. He ordered champagne a
little vaguely, and the wine ran through his veins with a curious
potency. He ate and drank now and then mechanically, now and then with
the keenest appetite. Afterwards he smoked a cigar, drank coffee, and
sipped a liqueur with the appreciation of a connoisseur. A fellow
passenger passed him an evening paper, which he glanced through with
apparent interest. Before he reached his journey's end he had ordered and
drunk another liqueur. He tipped the steward handsomely. It was the first
well-cooked meal which he had eaten for many months.

Arrived at Liverpool, he entered a cab and drove to the Adelphi Hotel. He
made his way at once to the office. His clothes were dry now and the rest
and warmth had given him more confidence.

"You have a room engaged for me, I think," he said, "Mr. Douglas Romilly.
I sent some luggage on."

The man merely glanced at him and handed him a ticket.

"Number sixty-seven, sir, on the second floor," he announced.

A porter conducted him up-stairs into a large, well-furnished bedroom. A
fire was blazing in the grate; a dressing-case, a steamer trunk and a
hatbox were set out at the foot of the bedstead.