“Rather; but he’s changed his name, and I don’t imagine the chaps in Cockspur Street know him by sight.”
“What name does he travel under now?”
The purser smiled softly to himself. “I fancy you won’t be pleased to learn it,” said he. “He’s down on the passenger-list as Iff—W. H. Iff.”
V
ISMAY?
When Staff went below a little later, he was somewhat surprised to find his stateroom alight,—surprised, because he had rather expected that Mr. Iff would elect to sleep off his potations in darkness.
To the contrary, the little man was very much awake, propped up in his berth with a book for company, and showed no effects whatever of overindulgence, unless that were betrayed by a slightly enhanced brightness of the cool blue eyes which he brought to bear upon his roommate.
“Good morning!” he piped cheerfully. “What on earth got you up so early? The bar’s been closed an hour and more.”