but are evidently still far from clear that they
are not travelling with an impostor.

"I don't see your name on the list," says Sir PETER, scanning a large
card through his glasses.

"What list?" I ask, somewhat disturbed.

"List of guests," replies Sir THOMAS, examining his card.

Weather-beaten Man hasn't got a list; he asks to be allowed to examine
Sir PETER'S. Aha! the Weather-beaten Man's name is not there. Sir THOMAS
and Sir PETER eye _him_ with suspicion now. He explains and tells his
story. If my name had been on the list I should have disbelieved him;
but as it isn't, I only think that his account of being here at all is
not so plausible and clear as my own.

"You've got the number of your berth?" asks Sir THOMAS, looking round at
me doubtfully, as if he were giving me a last chance.

"Berth!" I exclaim. "No, I haven't. You see I only telegraphed----" and
here I am about to repeat my entire explanation, when Sir PETER and Sir
THOMAS cut it short by shaking their heads ominously. "I'm going away on
Saturday night," I say, as if the prospect of my leaving them soon would
soften them a bit.

"Saturday!" returns Sir PETER, with a chuckle. "'Pon my soul I don't see
how you're going to do that." And he smiles derisively.

"No one goes on shore till Monday," observes Sir THOMAS, with decision.
"Certainly not," says the Weather-beaten Man, who is not on the list,
turning against me; "and, for my part, I don't care how long I stay in
such good quarters."

After this there is an uncomfortable silence. Sir THOMAS says there are
two hundred and fifty guests. Heavens! and I had thought it was a small
and select party of genial bachelors! We read our papers, the
Weather-beaten Man in his corner, I in mine. Sir PETER and Sir THOMAS
smoke, and then both fall asleep. Waking up, they fall to conversing
about a trip they have already had on the _Regina_, comparing notes of
comfort and so forth. I'm out of it. So is the Weather-beaten Stranger.
I begin to wish I hadn't come, or, at all events, that I had brought my
invitation card as proof of my identity, and a verification of my
statement. Wish, too, I'd brought ROSSHER'S telegram. No good wishing. I
haven't. I'm not there yet; but what frightens me is, that as there are
two hundred and fifty passengers, if I am the only one who wants to go
on shore on Saturday night, they will never upset all the arrangements
for the sake of sending me off in a launch or a gig, or wha