"And no one's likely to." returns the cheery speaker. "He's staying
with some friends a little way out of the town. He has just sent me a
note by hand to say that he won't occupy his room till to-morrow, and
will be much obliged if Mr. CAPES will forward by bearer a bag that
was labelled and addressed to the room taken for him here, No. 142."

[Illustration: "---- Speed the Parting Guest."]

"But--" exclaims the Proprietor, aghast, "but--"

At this moment I catch sight of the man with the cheery voice. Saved!
I know him. It is my old friend, Sir JOHN HARTLEY, M.D., who, years
ago, told me there was nothing the matter with me, only I must take a
holiday and go abroad to get better (most excellent advice, and I've
never been quite well since), and who now exclaims, with all his old
breadth of manner, "What _you_ here! Bravo! We'll make you an honorary
member!"

The Proprietor looks at me, and I at the Proprietor. I know what is
passing through the mind of Mr. NORFOLK CAPES, F.R.G.S. and P.R.B.H.
I hasten to relieve his anxiety by saying, "Thanks; I'm here only for
the night; I'm off to-morrow. I've just come down here to look for a
house. By the way, I rather think that Dr. MCSIMMUM's bag must be in
my room. Let's see."

So I depart with the Proprietor. Explanations _en route_. Dr.
MCSIMMUM's bag has been placed in my room, I should say in _his_ room.
But I've got the apartment, and if it hadn't been for the mistake, I
should have been homeless and houseless, and a wanderer on the face