The Honorable Percival

								

minutes had been lost before she found him and stated her case.
The captain of an ocean-liner is too used to false alarms to be easily
excited, and it was only after another thorough search was made, and no
trace of Bobby and the Englishman found, that Captain Boynton concerned
himself. Just what he said need not be chronicled. It was extremely
crude and extremely personal, and punctuated by phrases that would have
shocked the delicate sensibilities of the Honorable Percival.
His humor was not improved by the dictatorial messages that began to
arrive by wireless:


Have chartered launch. Hold steamer,


HASCOMBE.


Distance too great for launch. Meet us halfway.


HASCOMBE.


Have started, Meet us.


HASCOMBE.
The exciting news that somebody was left soon traveled from deck to
deck, and when the steamer began slowly and laboriously to come about,
the railing's were crowded with passengers. Presently a small dark
object was visible in the distance, rising and falling unsteadily on the
waves that lay between the steamer and the dim shore-line. Gradually the
launch came nearer, and with some difficulty succeeded in getting
alongside.
A cheer of welcome went up as Bobby and Percival scrambled up the
ship's-ladder. Their hats were adorned with trailing wreaths of smilax,
and about their shoulders were garlands of carnations. It was a stage
entrance, sufficiently conspicuous and effective to have satisfied the
soul of the most exacting manager.
Percival's abhorrence of publicity, which had been overshadowed by his
anxiety, now took complete possession of him. With punctilious formality
he handed Bobby on deck, then, with a manner sufficiently forbidding to
discourage all questions and remarks, pushed his way haughtily through
the laughing crowd and went below.
It was not until he entered his state-room that he recalled the
grievance that ostensibly had sent him ashore. In the middle of his
berth was an open suitcase, with its contents widely distributed. Three
pairs of shoes lay in the middle of the floor, a bunch of variegated
neckties depended from the door-knob, and a stack of American magazines
and newspapers lay upon the sofa, Percival stood on the threshold
sniffing. There was no mistaking the odor. It was white rose, a perfume
forever associated with the perfidious Lady Hortense! Was he to suffer
this refinement of cruelty in having the very air he breathed saturated
with her memory? He rang furiously for his valet.
"Judson, see that that person's things are put upon his side of the room
and kept there, and under no condition allow the port-holes to be
closed."
"Very good, sir. Will you dress now for dinner!"
But Percival was in no mood for the long table d'hôte dinner, with its
inevitable comments upon the affair of the afternoon. He preferred a
sandwich and a glass of wine in a secluded corner of the smoking-room,
after which he played a few games of solitaire, then betook himself