the salon almost before I could have uttered the potent name of Jack
Robinson, had I cared to try. With cold aloofness I offered my keys,
and the head steward knelt to officiate, while the crowd gaped and the
second English officer abandoned his corner and his papers, standing
forth to watch with the lieutenant and the captain, thus forming an
intent and highly interested committee of three.

The investigation began, very thorough, slightly harrowing. I had not
realized the embarrassing detail of such a search. An extended store
of collars suitable for different occasions; neat and glossy piles
of shirts, both dress and plain; black silk hose mountain high, and
neckties as numerous as the sea sands. Noting the rapt attention that
McGuntrie in particular gave to these disclosures, I felt that to
deserve so inhuman a punishment my crime must have been black indeed.
Shoes on their trees; articles of silk underwear; brushes, combs,
gloves, cards, boxes of cigarettes, an extra flask; some light
literature. And so on and so on, ad nauseam, till I grew dully
apathetic, and roused only to praise Allah when we left the boxes for
the trunk.

Hardened by this time, I brazenly endured the exhibition of my pajamas,
not turning a hair when they were held up and shaken out before the
attentive crowd. In a similar spirit I bore the examination of my coats
and trousers, the rummaging of my vests, the investigation of my hats.
"Courage!" I told myself. "Nothing in the world is endless." Indeed, the
last garment was now being lifted, revealing nothing beneath it save a
leather wallet carefully tied.

"Just look through that, will you?" I requested with chilling sarcasm.
"Otherwise you may get to thinking later that I had a note for the