A CHANGE OF PLANS At a few minutes past nine on the following morning, I was standing outside the front door of the Court watching the piling of my luggage on to a four-wheel cab.

The hall-porter stood by my side, superintending the efforts of his myrmidons.
"You had better send my letters on," I told him.

"I am going down into Norfolk for several weeks,--perhaps longer." "Very good, sir," he answered.

"By the bye," he added, turning away, "this morning's letters have just arrived.

There was one for you, I think." He handed it to me, and I tore it open as I stepped on to the pavement.