"It will do as a stop-gap, anyway," he said, "until we can fix you up in a permanent job. You don't want to be knocking about at home, twiddling your thumbs." "That I don't, sir!" laughed Ernie a thought ironically, and returned to Deep-dene to tell his luck. Mr. Pigott glanced at his wife. "The Hohenzollern," he said gruffly. "Well, give it a try." Next day Mr. Pigott met the Doctor in the street. "Well," he said, "what d'you think of your soldier?" "Done him no harm anyway," replied Mr. Trupp, quite impenitent. "I don't know," retorted the other. "He left here a gentleman: he comes back a labourer--fit to work a lift." "None the worse for that," said Mr. Trupp. "Mr. Wyndham's been telling us we want fewer clerks and more working-men. There's no satisfying you radicals." "Better than a jumped-up jackanapes in black leggings and a pilot coat, I will admit," answered the other. "Yes, you've got a lot to answer for, Mr. Trupp. First you send him off to the army; and directly that's finished you pack him off to the Hohenzollern Hotel." "Might be worse places," muttered Mr. Trupp. Mr. Pigott held up a hand in horror. "Doctor!" he cried, "I tell you what it is. Ever since you saved that Tsar you've been a changed man." "I don't know about that," said Mr. Trupp. "I only know that Tsars forget to pay their Doctor's bills." "I'm glad to hear it," answered Mr. Pigott. "_Very_ glad," with emphasis. "A lesson to you to leave the insides of Royalty to emselves in future." BOOK IV RUTH BOAM CHAPTER XXVII THE HOHENZOLLERN HOTEL The Hohenzollern Hotel was both physically and spiritually remote from all the other hotels in Beachbourne. The respectable Grand, facing the Wish, the ponderous Talbot opposite the band-stand, the perky Hydropathic perched on the rise of the hill, the Dudley by the pier, the Cecil, the Bentinck, and all the other hotels with aristocratic names and a middle-class clientele, were at the West-end of the town, interspersed among boarding-houses the whole length of the sea-front from the pier to Beau-nez. The Hohenzollern stood aloof at the East-end on the edge of the Crumbles, as the Levels here were called. An immense, modern caravanserai of pretentious neogothic style, it had been dumped down on the shore beyond the long-deserted Redoubt of Napoleonic times. In front of it was the sea. On its flank, beyond the Fishing Station, stretched the marshes. Behind it, at a respectful distance, crouching in the dust, the mass of mean houses and crowded streets that constituted the East-end. On these the Hohenzollern, aloof and lordly in its railed-off pleasure grounds, turned an unheeding back. It was unaware of their presence; or rather recognized them only to patronize. It was a drab area, unfrequented by the fashionable and redolent of the atmosphere of cheap lodging-houses. The parade ceased at the Redoubt, and ended for promenaders at the pier.