"I shall start work directly I get down, and if all the things I asked for in my list have been provided, I don't think it will be long before I have some satisfactory news for you. Unless I see you or hear from you before then I will write to the Hotel Russell directly there is anything definite to communicate. "Meanwhile please give my kind regards to your amiable friend and colleague, and also remember me to his charming daughter. "Believe me, "Yours sincerely, "JAMES NICHOLSON." With its combined touch of seriousness and flippancy, this appeared to me exactly the sort of letter that McMurtrie would expect me to write. I couldn't resist putting in the bit about his "amiable" friend, for the recollection of Savaroff's manner towards me still rankled gently in my memory. Besides I had a notion it would rather amuse McMurtrie, whose more artistic mind must have been frequently distressed by his colleague's blustering surliness. I could think of nothing else which required my immediate attention, so going into my bedroom I proceeded to pack up my belongings. I put in everything I possessed with the exception of Savaroff's discarded garments, for although I was keeping on the rooms I had no very robust faith in my prospects of ever returning to them. Then, ringing the bell, I despatched Gertrude to fetch me a taxi, while I settled up my bill with Mrs. Oldbury. "An' seem' you've taken on the rooms, sir," observed that lady, "I 'opes it's to be a case of 'say orrivar an' not good-bye.'" "I hope it is, Mrs. Oldbury," I replied. "I shall come back if I possibly can, but one never knows what may happen in life." She shook her head sombrely. "Ah, you're right there, sir. An' curious enough that's the very identical remark my late 'usband was ser fond o' makin'. I remember 'is sayin' it to me the very night before 'e was knocked down by a bus. Knocked down in Westminister 'e was, and runned over the body by both 'ind wheels. 'E never got over it--not as you might say reely got over it. If ever 'e ate cheese after that it always give 'im a pain in 'is stomick." An apropos remark about "come wheel come woe" flashed into my mind, but before I could frame it in properly sympathetic language, a taxi drew up at the door with Gertie 'Uggins installed in state alongside the driver. Both she and Mrs. Oldbury stood on the step, and waved farewell to me as I drove down the street. I was quite sorry to leave them. I felt that they both liked me in their respective ways, and my present list of amiably disposed acquaintances was so small that I objected to curtailing it by the most humble member.