losing his temper twice with people who had done him no harm, when, just
as his excitement was growing more than querulous, a very heavy,
stupid-looking man in regulation boots tapped him on the shoulder and
said: "Follow me." He was prepared with an oath by way of reply, but
another gentleman of equal weight, wearing boots of the same pattern,
linked his arm in his and between them they marched him away, to a
little private closet opening out of the stationmaster's room.

"Now, sir," said he who had first tapped him on the shoulder, "be good
enough to explain your movements."

"I don't know what you mean," said the young man.

"You were in the company," said the older man severely, "of an old man,
bald, with a white beard and a blue sailor suit. He had come from
London; you joined him at Swindon. We have evidence that he was to be
met at this station and it will be to your advantage if you make a clean
breast of it."

The young man was violent and he was borne away.

But he had friends at Bristol. He gave his references and he was
released. To this day he believes that he suffered not from folly, but
from injustice. He did not see his bag again, but after all it contained
no more than his evening clothes, for which he had paid or rather owed
six guineas, four shirts, as many collars and dress ties, a
silver-mounted set of brushes and combs, and useless cut-glass bottles,
a patented razor, a stick of shaving soap, and two very, very
confidential letters which he treasured. His watch, of course, was gone,
but not, I am glad to say, his chain, which hung dangling, though in his