At first the police seemed inclined to detain me, but when I had convinced them that I was what they quaintly termed "a bona fide gentleman," and had produced what they called my "credentials,"--these consisted of a visiting card, and of a letter addressed to me at Houghton Park--and given them my London address and telephone number, they let me go. I found out afterwards that, while they kept me talking at the station, they had telephoned to London, in order to verify my statements that I had a flat in King Street and belonged to Brooks's Club. The coffee room of the _Stag's Head Hotel_ that night was crowded, for it was the night of the Hunt Ball, and every available bed in the hotel had been engaged some days in advance. Those dining were all strangers to me, most of them young people in very high spirits. "I've kept this table for you, sir," the head waiter said, as he conducted me across the room. "It is the best I could do; the other place at it is engaged." "And by a beautiful lady, I hope," I answered lightly, for I knew this waiter to be something of a wag. "No, sir," he answered with a grin, "by a gentleman with a beard. A charming gentleman, sir. You'll like him." "Who is he? What is he like?" "Oh, quite a little man, sir, with a nervous, fidgetty manner, and a falsetto voice. Ah," he added, lowering his voice, "here he comes." There was a twinkle of merriment in the waiter's eyes, as he turned and hurried away to meet the giant who had just entered the room. I don't think I had ever before seen so tall and magnificent-looking a man. He must have stood quite six feet four, and was splendidly built. His dark, deep-set eyes peered out with singular power from beneath bushy brows. He had a high, broad forehead, and thick black hair. His beard, well-trimmed, reached just below his white tie, for of course he was in evening clothes. There was a noticeable lull in the buzz of conversation as the newcomer appeared, and all eyes were set upon him as he strolled with an easy, swinging gait across the room towards my table. I saw dowagers raise their lorgnettes and scrutinise him with great curiosity, mingled with approval, as he went along. Instinctively I rose as he approached. I don't know why I did. I should not have risen had any ordinary stranger been brought over to my table to occupy a vacant seat. The man looked down at me, smiled--it was a most friendly, captivating smile--nodded genially, and then seated himself facing me. I am a bit of a snob at heart--most of us are, only we won't admit it--and I felt gratified at the reflected interest I knew was now being taken in me, for many people were staring hard at us both, evidently thinking that this remarkable-looking stranger must be Somebody, and that, as we were apparently acquainted, I must be Somebody too. The waiter's eye caught mine, and I heard him give a low chuckle of satisfaction at the practical joke he had played upon me.