than Flipp's outlay. There was no difficulty in that direction,
and nobody would be any the wiser. His wife would imagine that
he was in London, while his employers would believe him to be
at Lowestoft. There was a brief struggle in his mind, but the
tempter prevailed, and, with a courage worthy of a better cause,
he determined to risk it and--_go_.

And thus it came to pass that, on the evening of our story, Benjamin
Quelch, having completed his packing,--which merely comprised what
he was accustomed to call his "night things," neatly bestowed in
a small black hand-bag belonging to Mrs. Quelch,--stood before the
looking-glass and contemplated his guilty splendour, the red necktie
and the soft gray felt hat, purchased out of surplus funds. He had
expended a couple of guineas in a second-class return ticket, and
another two pounds in "coupons," entitling him to bed, breakfast,
and dinner for five days at certain specified hotels in Paris.
This outlay, with half a crown for a pair of gloves, and a bribe
of five shillings to secure the silence of Mrs. Widger, left him
with little more than a pound in hand, but this small surplus would
no doubt amply suffice for his modest needs.

His only regret, as he gazed at himself in the glass was that he had
not had time to grow a moustache, the one thing needed to complete
his artistic appearance. But time was fleeting, and he dared not
linger over the enticing picture. He stole along the passage, and
softly opened the street door. As he did so a sudden panic came over
him, and he felt half inclined to abandon his rash design. But as
he wavered he caught sight of the detested tall hat hanging up in
the passage, and he hesitated no longer. He passed out, and, closing
the door behind him, started at a brisk pace for Victoria station.