"The heavier luggage, labelled for the hold, sir," the man told him, "is
down-stairs, and will go direct to the steamer to-morrow morning. That
was according to your instructions, I believe."

"Quite right," Philip assented. "What time does the boat sail?"

"Three o'clock, sir."

Philip frowned. This was his first disappointment. He had fancied himself
on board early in the day. The prospect of a long morning's inaction
seemed already to terrify him.

"Not till the afternoon," he muttered.

"Matter of tide, sir," the man explained. "You can go on board any time
after eleven o'clock in the morning, though. Very much obliged to you,
sir."

The porter withdrew, entirely satisfied with his tip. Philip Romilly
locked the door after him carefully. Then he drew a bunch of keys from
his pocket and, after several attempts, opened both the steamer trunk and
the dressing-case. He surveyed their carefully packed contents with a
certain grim and fantastic amusement, handled the silver brushes, shook
out a purple brocaded dressing-gown, laid out a suit of clothes for the
morrow, even selected a shirt and put the links in it. Finally he
wandered into the adjoining bathroom, took a hot bath, packed away at the
bottom of the steamer trunk the clothes which he had been wearing, went
to bed--and slept.