"I am going to pay some calls in the city," he announced--"Mr. Romilly is
my name--and I may not be able to get back here before my boat sails.
I am going on the _Elletania_. Can I have my luggage sent there direct?"

"By all means, sir."

"Every article is properly labelled," Philip continued. "Those in my
bedroom--number sixty-seven--are for the cabin, and those you have in
your charge are for the hold."

"That will be quite all right, sir," the man assured him pocketing his
liberal tip. "I will see to the matter myself."

Philip paid his bill at the office and breathed a little more freely as
he left the hotel. Passing a large, plate-glass window he stopped
suddenly and stared at his own reflection. There was something unfamiliar
in the hang of his well-cut clothes and fashionable Homburg hat. It was
like the shadow of some one else passing--some one to whom those clothes
belonged. Then he remembered, remembered with a cold shiver which
blanched his cheeks and brought a little agonised murmur to his lips. The
moment passed, however, crushed down, stifled as he had sworn that he
would stifle all such memories. He turned in at a barber's shop, had his
hair cut, and yielded to the solicitations of a fluffy-haired young lady
who was dying to go to America if only somebody would take her, and who
was sure that he ought to have a manicure before his voyage. Afterwards
he entered a call office and rang up the hotel on the telephone.

"Mr. Romilly speaking," he announced. "Will you kindly tell Mr. Gayes, if
he calls to see me, that I have been detained in the city, and shall not
be back."