"Very," said Toppleton, shortly.
"It seems to have agreed with you,—you've a finer colour than you had."
"Yes," replied Hopkins, drily. "That's natural. I've been to Norway. The sun's been working day and night, and I'm tanned."
"I hope everything is—er—everything was all right with the room, sir?" the agent then said somewhat anxiously.
"I found nothing wrong with it," said Hopkins; "did you suspect that anything was wrong there?"
"Oh, no!—indeed not. Of course not," returned the agent with some confusion. "I only asked—er—so that in case there was anything you wanted, you know, it might be attended to at once. There's nothing wrong with the room at all, sir. Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"Well, that's good," said Toppleton, turning to his table. "I'm glad there's nothing the matter. It will take a very small percentage of the rental to remedy that. Good morning, Mr. Stubbs."
"Good morning, sir," said Mr. Stubbs, and then he departed.
"Now for the mail," said Hopkins, grasping his letter-opener, and running it deftly through the flap of a communication from Mr. Morley, written two months previously.
"Dear Hoppy," he read. "We have just been informed of your singular act on the Saturday previous to your departure for London."