"You can imagine how sold I felt when, after persuading the Customs fellows to insist on opening his bag, all they fished out was a suit of pyjamas, an old toothbrush, and a bottle full of a custardy-looking stuff. He was very good-tempered about it--much more than I should have been if my wardrobe had been exposed. I was feeling pretty cheap when another fellow came along, whom your description fitted equally well, though he wasn’t a scrap like the first man. He had evidently been horribly sea-sick; had gone below, I suppose, which was the reason why I hadn’t seen him before. The wind had carried away his hat, and his bald pate betrayed him. I got his bag opened; had to pretend that it was mine, and full of cigarettes; and your stuff being loose in the bag it went up with a fine fizz when I dropped a match into it. That’s why you owe me fifty francs. They lugged me off to the police station, and next day fined me fifty for smoking on forbidden ground, though, as I pointed out, _I_ hadn’t done any smoking, and they ought really to have fined the fellow who had the stuff in his bag. They were very curious as to what that was, but of course I didn’t give it away. And it’s rather rotten to find that after all you don’t care a copper cent!" "Not at all, my dear chap; I’m extremely grateful to you. I only hope you won’t ruin me." "Ruin you! What do you mean?" "Well, you see, with Hittite safe, I shall be so sickening rich that I am almost bound to get lazy." "If that’s your trouble, just hand it over to me; _I_ don’t mind being rich, though I’m not an inventor. But I say, Pickles, that reminds me: do you know any inventors of the names of Sims, Edwards and--what was the other?--Rowland?" "Can’t say I do. Why?" "Why, the wrong man--the bottle man, you know--gassed about the greatness of our English inventors, and mentioned these three specially, to put me off the scent, I thought. Of course his talk of inventors made me all the more sure that he had your stuff in his bag." "Well, I can’t recall any of them. Sims--you’ve never heard me talk of any one named Sims, have you, Martha?" he asked of the housekeeper, who entered at this moment with the coffee. "No, sir; though if you don’t mind me saying so, I’ve been a good mind to name him myself this long time, only I didn’t like to be so bold." "My dear good woman, what are you driving at?" asked Micklewright in astonishment. "Why, sir, I dare say busy gentlemen like yourself don’t notice it till some one tells ’em, their combs and brushes being kept tidy unbeknownst; but the truth is, I’ve been worriting myself over that--I reelly don’t like to mention it, but there, being old enough to be your mother--I mean, sir, that little bald spot jest at the crown of the head, sir--jest at the end of the parting, like." Micklewright laughed as he put his hand on the spot. "Well, but--Sims?" he said.