voices, and in tones which seemed, to his unaccustomed ear, to
convey a thirst for British blood. No sooner had he landed than he
was accosted by a ferocious-looking personage (in truth, a harmless
custom-house officer), who asked him in French whether he had
anything to declare, and made a movement to take his bag in order
to mark it as "passed." Quelch jumped to the conclusion that the
stranger was a brigand bent on depriving him of his property, and
he held on to the bag with such tenacity that the douanier naturally
inferred there was something specially contraband about it. He
proceeded to open it, and produced, among sundry other feminine
belongings, a lady's frilled and furbelowed night-dress, from which,
as he unrolled it, fell a couple of bundles of cigars!

Benjamin's look of astonishment as he saw these unexpected articles
produced from his hand-bag was interpreted by the officials as a
look of guilt. As a matter of fact, half stupefied by the agonies
of the night, he had forgotten the precise spot where he had left
his own bag, and had picked up in its stead one belonging to the
wife of a sporting gentleman on his way to some races at Longchamps.
Desiring to smuggle a few "weeds," and deeming that the presence of
such articles would be less likely to be suspected among a lady's
belongings, the sporting gentleman had committed them to his
companion's keeping. Hand-bags, as a rule, are "passed" unopened,
and such would probably have been the case in the present instance
had not Quelch's look of panic excited suspicion. The real owners
of the bag had picked up Quelch's which it precisely resembled,
and were close behind him on the gangway. The lady uttered an
exclamation of dismay as she saw the contents of her bag spread
abroad by the customs officer, but was promptly silenced by her
husband. "Keep your blessed tongue quiet," he whispered, "If a