IT was well along in October when Hopkins returned to London, and he got back to his office in the Temple none too soon. The agent had fully made up his mind that he was gone for good, and was about taking steps to remove his effects from Number 17, and gain an honest penny by sub-letting that light and airy apartment for his own benefit, a vision of profit which Toppleton redivivus effectually dispelled. The return, for this reason, was of course a grave disappointment to Mr. Stubbs, but he rose to the occasion when the long lost lessee appeared on the scene, and welcomed him cordially. "Good morning, sir," he said. "Glad to see you back. Didn't know what had become of you or should have forwarded your mail. Have a pleasant trip?" "Very," said Toppleton, shortly. "It seems to have agreed with you,--you've a finer colour than you had." "Yes," replied Hopkins, drily. "That's natural. I've been to Norway. The sun's been working day and night, and I'm tanned." "I hope everything is--er--everything was all right with the room, sir?" the agent then said somewhat anxiously. "I found nothing wrong with it," said Hopkins; "did you suspect that anything was wrong there?" "Oh, no!--indeed not. Of course not," returned the agent with some confusion. "I only asked--er--so that in case there was anything you wanted, you know, it might be attended to at once. There's nothing wrong with the room at all, sir. Nothing. Absolutely nothing." "Well, that's good," said Toppleton, turning to his table. "I'm glad there's nothing the matter. It will take a very small percentage of the rental to remedy that. Good morning, Mr. Stubbs." "Good morning, sir," said Mr. Stubbs, and then he departed. "Now for the mail," said Hopkins, grasping his letter-opener, and running it deftly through the flap of a communication from Mr. Morley, written two months previously. "Dear Hoppy," he read. "We have just been informed of your singular act on the Saturday previous to your departure for London." "Hm! what the deuce did I do then?" said Hopkins, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. "Let me see. 'Singular act.' I've done quite a number of singular things on Saturdays, but what--Oh, yes! Ha, ha! That Coney Island dinner. Oh, bosh!--what nonsense! as if my giving the boys a feast were going to hurt the prospects of a firm like ours. By George, it'll work just the other way. It'll fill the force with an enthusiasm for work which--" Here Hopkins stopped for a moment to say, "Come in!" Somebody had knocked, he thought. But the door remained closed. "Come in!" he cried again. Still there was no answer, and on walking to the door and opening it, Toppleton discovered that his ears had deceived him. There was no one there, nor was there any sign of life whatever in the hallway.