These are only my private rooms. I shall be at my office in Great College Street to-morrow, if you could look in then. [_Giving him card._] Here's the address. MR. WACKERBATH. Good! [_He rises and moves towards window, while HORACE rings bell by fireplace._] I'll look in on my way from Waterloo to the City. [_He perceives that he is walking out on to a balcony, and turns._] How the devil did I come in? I'll be with you at eleven sharp. [_He goes towards the bedroom door on the right._ HORACE. [_At door to landing._] _This_ way, Mr. Wackerbath. MR. WACKERBATH. [_Vaguely._] I thought I came _that_ way. [_As he goes up._] I can see already that you're the very man for me. [_At door to landing._] Now I must be off, or I shall miss my train to Lipsfield. [_As HORACE offers to see him downstairs._] Don't trouble--I can find my way down. Eleven sharp to-morrow. _Good_ evening. [_As he passes out HORACE touches his back, as though half suspecting him to be another illusion. MR. WACKERBATH turns and shakes hands effusively, then goes out, and HORACE closes door._ HORACE. [_To himself._] _He's_ no dream, anyhow! [_With exultation._] A client! A real client of my own! At last! MRS. RAPKIN. [_Enters from landing._] Did you ring for me, sir?--or was it only to let the gentleman out? [_She comes down._ HORACE. Oh, there _is_ something I had to tell you. We shall be _five_ at dinner, not four. You can manage all right, eh? MRS. RAPKIN. [_Comfortably._] Lor, yes, sir. _That_ won't make no difference! HORACE. [_In front of table._] By the way, Mrs. Rapkin, you haven't let your ground-floor yet, have you? To--to an Asiatic gentleman? MRS. RAPKIN. _Me_, sir? Let to a Asiatic! No,--nor wouldn't! Why, there was Rapkin's own sister-in-law let her droring-room floor to one. And--[_darkly_]--reason she 'ad to repent of it--for all his gold spectacles. HORACE. [_Relieved._] Ah, I _thought_ you hadn't. [_Sits on table._] Well, about the waiting to-night? I suppose I can depend on Rapkin for that, eh? Where _is_ he? MRS. RAPKIN. Well, sir, not to deceive you, he ain't back yet from his Public--Libery as _he_ calls it. HORACE. Oh, _that's_ what he calls it, eh? MRS. RAPKIN. Whatever he's took, sir, you may rely on him to 'and the dishes without 'aving no accidents. [_A noise is heard from the street below, which gradually resolves itself into an Oriental chant._ HORACE. What's going on outside? [_He goes to window, looks out, and then starts back uneasily._] I say. It's--it's devilish odd--but there seems to me to be a whole caravan of camels down there! MRS. RAPKIN. [_Crossing to window._] Camuels, sir? HORACE.