It was still summer, and the nags, who had been made to do their work in London, were picking up a little strength in idleness, or, as Mr.Baskerville called it, getting into condition.

In the mean time Mr.Baskerville amused himself as well as he could by lying in bed and playing lawn-tennis.

He sometimes dined at the hotel, in order that the club might think that he was entertained at friends' houses; but the two places were nearly the same to him, as he could achieve a dinner and half a pint of wine for five or six shillings at each of them.

A more empty existence, or, one would be inclined to say, less pleasurable, no one could pass; but he had always a decent coat on his back and a smile on his face, and five shillings in his pocket with which to pay for his dinner.

His asking what was up about Scarborough showed, at any rate, that he was very backward in the world's news.
"I believe he has vanished," said Harry.
"Oh yes, of course he's vanished.