When I went into the bedroom the first thing that caught my eye was the young gentleman’s dressing-bag. It was closed, and the waterproof cover was over it, but not fastened.
I lifted it off the chair on which it stood, to put it on the chest of drawers while the chair was dusted, and as I did so the waterproof flap flew back, and I saw that there were three initials stamped on the leather, and the initials were “T. C. K.”
“I knew it!” I exclaimed; and I rushed downstairs and told Harry.
“If his surname begins with K, it’s certain his name isn’t Smith,” said Harry.
“I don’t want you to tell me that!” I said, a little sharply. “I do know how to spell. What I do want to know is what we are going to do?”
“How do you mean?”
“How do I mean! I suppose we are not going to let people stay at our hotel under false names after the lesson we’ve had with the London physician.”
Harry looked puzzled.
“Well, my dear,” he said, “I haven’t much experience yet, and I don’t know. I suppose as long as people pay their bill and behave themselves, they can stay under what name they choose. Besides,” he said, his face brightening, and being evidently struck with an idea, “people do travel nowadays under false names. The Queen, when she travels, calls herself the countess of something or other, and so do many crowned heads.”
“Perhaps they do,” I said; “but you don’t want me to believe that we’ve got crowned heads staying in our house.”