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that covered the worst of me, but there was still enough of me visible to make me one of the most striking figures in that singular procession.

The Street of the Fountain proved to be very narrow, so the procession had to tail off, whether it wished to or not. From the outside the Villa Hortense seemed to be quite a good-sized house. While people were wondering how we were going to get in I turned the handle and opened the door. The door led directly into a room. As I entered I saw a feminine figure passing through a door which was on the other side. Although she looked quite different, I knew that she was Miss Marianne Tracy. As I made a dash at her she shut the door with a bang, I heard a key turned in the lock, and bolts shot home. As the door was a solid construction, apparently six inches thick, my desire to get through it had to be postponed. Others had come in after me, and they were eyeing with surprise the contents of the room—which certainly were rather amazing. There were articles of clothing which had undoubtedly belonged to Miss Tracy, and what is known as a "transformation," which had probably belonged to her too, to say nothing of some odds and ends of an extremely intimate kind. The great discovery was made by Mrs. Stebbings and her two daughters; they dashed forward with a chorused cry: "Father's bag!"

There, on a sort of stool, was the bag which Mr. Stebbings had kept in his locker, and which had contained the most valuable possessions of the feminine part of the family. There were some of them left still—what the family seemed to regard as unconsidered trifles; the articles really worth having were there no more. They had probably gone with the lady who had locked and bolted—on the other side—that extremely solid door. While we were assimilating this interesting fact a person garbed as a sailor appeared In the doorway and informed us, at the top of his voice, that if we wanted to continue our yachting cruise we had better get on board at once, as the boat was on the point of starting.

There was a nice to-do. Everyone seemed to be strongly of the opinion that the captain was an exceptionally unreasonable person; but, as no one wished to be left behind, a common inclination was shown to rush to the shore. As nobody was more eager to get on board than I was, for divers reasons, I kept well to the front. We reached the quay just as the ship's boat was about to put off, and I was the first one in. They all came tumbling after me. We discussed the captain's conduct on the way to the ship, and we kept on discussing it to the end of the voyage. He was tried by a sort of court-martial, no two members of which agreed.

Mr., Mrs., the Misses, and Master Stebbings were of opinion that the captain ought to have kept the ship at Tangier while search was made for that disreputable woman, and at least endeavoured to recover their valuable property. As the ship had stayed there already much longer than she ought to have done, the captain made it quite clear that his first duty was to the owners, and that if the Stebbings family had wished to remain they might have done so and come on by another ship. But as their remaining property was on board and they had only a few pounds on their persons, it was not strange that they had not seen their way to act on the captain's suggestion. Mrs. Stebbings asked him pointedly if he thought she could live for a fortnight in the clothes she stood up in, and the young ladies hinted that he was not the kind of person they had taken him for. So the captain retired, and I should not be surprised if he bullied the crew. I believe efforts were made by wireless to ascertain the woman's whereabouts and to regain the Stebbingses' gems, and that directions were given to leave no stone unturned which should bring these things about. But, so far as I know, nothing ever came of what was done.

The yachting cruise went on, under a sort of blight. Everything seemed different without Miss Tracy and the Stebbingses' gems. The numerous inquisitions which were held on me, and the myriad questions which I had to answer, caused me seriously to consider whether it would not be desirable to remain at one of the ports at which we touched and continue my journey later. But the truth was that I had had enough of yachting, and the one thing for which I craved was to have done with that pleasure trip and get back home. I did get back home—we all got back home—and I think that most of us parted from each other in the hope that we might never meet again.

This story is episodical, with an interval between each episode. There was another interval of about eighteen months, during which I managed to keep myself alive, though, for the most part, I was badly overworked; and one afternoon I went to call upon a friend who was staying at the Hotel Metropole in town. I stayed in the lounge while she went to write some letters. Right on the other side was a party of Americans.