ve by clockwork, passed
to a table on which stood a small oak cabinet. Opening the cabinet he
took from it and placed on the table a watch and chain.

His duties were now finished, and, according to some prescribed rule, he
left the room carefully and softly, closing the door behind him.

Jones took up the watch and chain.

The watch was as thin as a five shilling piece, the chain was a mere
thread of gold. It was an evening affair, to be worn with dress
clothes, and this fact presented to the mind of Jones a confirmation of
the idea that, not only was he literally in Rochester's shoes, but that
Rochester's ordinary watch and chain had not returned.

He sat down for a moment to consider another point. His own old
Waterbury and rolled gold chain, and the few unimportant letters in his
pockets--where were they?

He determined to clear this matter at once, and boldly rang the bell.

The valet answered it.

"When I came back last night--er--was there anything in my pockets?"
asked he.

"No, my Lord. They had taken everything from the pockets."

"No watch and chain?"

"No, my Lord."

"Have you the clothes I came back in?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Go and fetch them."

The man disappeared and returned in a minute with a bundle of clothes
neatly folded on his arm.

"Mr. Church told me to keep them careful, lest you'd want to put the
matter in the hands of the police, my Lord, shockin' old things they
are."

Jones examined the clothes. They were his own. Everything he had worn
yesterday lay there, and the sight of them filled his mind with a
nostalgia and a desire for them--a home sickness and a clothes
sickness--beyond expression.

He was absolutely sure from the valet's manner that the servants were
not "in the know." A wild impulse came on him to take the exhibitor of
these remnants of his past into his confidence. To say right out: "I'm
Jones. Victor Jones of Philadelphia. I'm no Lord. Here, gimme those
clothes and let me out of this--let's call it quits."

The word "police" already dropped held him back. He was an impostor. If
he were to declare the facts before Rochester returned, what might be
the result? Whatever the result might be one thing was certain, it would
be unpleasant. Besides, he was no prisoner, once downstairs he could
leave the house.

So instead of saying: "I'm Victor Jones of Philadelphia," he said: "Take
them away," and finding himself alone once more he sat down to consider.

Roche