excitement. Monsieur Pelletan and his assistants were busy attending to
the wants of their distinguished guest; down in the kitchen, the chef
was cursing the stupidity of the unfortunate menials under him and
striving madly to prove himself worthy the occasion--the greatest of his
life! Every moment, a porter toiled up to the door with a load of
luggage; every moment some one arrived demanding a room--and not one
murmured at the tariff! The lift groaned and creaked under the
unaccustomed weights put upon it and moved more slowly than ever.
Pelletan, as he hurried past, mopping his perspiring brow, had time only
for a single glance at his good angel--but what a glance! Such a glance,
no doubt, Columbus caught from his lieutenants at the cry of "Land Ho!"

Rushford, leaning over the desk, watching the confusion with an
amusement which had banished every trace of ennui, felt his arm touched.
He turned and recognised the be-gilt messenger of the day before.

"A second telegram for monsieur," said that functionary, with an amiable
grin, and produced the message.

There was no time for hesitation. Rushford took it, signed the blank,
and fished up the expected tip.

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave!" he murmured, and looked at the
address on the little white envelope. It read:

_M. le Propriétaire,

Grand Hôtel Royal,

Weet-sur-Mer._