side of a fork. At present the man, somewhat flushed with champagne,
is smoking an enormous cigar with a red-and-gold band round it, while
the lady, her diamonds flashing in the sunshine, leans back in her
chair and regards with supercilious eyes the holiday crowds that
throng the pavement below.

Following her glance my attention is suddenly arrested by the strange
behaviour of two passers-by, who have stopped in the middle of the
pavement and, after exchanging some excited comments, are staring
fixedly towards us. From their appearance they would seem to be a
typical husband and wife of the working-class on holiday, and it
occurs to me that, given the clothes and the diamonds, they might well
be occupying the wicker-chairs of the couple opposite. Evidently the
sight of somebody or something in the hotel porch has excited
them greatly, for they continue to stare up at us with a hostile
concentration that renders them quite unconscious of the frantic
efforts of the small child who accompanies them to tug them towards
the beach. After a moment they exchange a few more quick words, and
the man leaves his companion and makes his way towards us. Ascending
the hotel steps with an air of great determination he comes to a halt
before the couple opposite.

"'Ere, I've bin lookin' for you," he begins accusingly.

The Rolls-Royce owner takes the cigar from his mouth and gazes in
astonishment at the accusing apparition before him.

"A hour ago," pursues the newcomer relentlessly, "you was driving
along the front here in the whackin' great car. It ain't no good
denyin' it, 'cos I took the number."