In the meantime, here he sat in the shady Somersetshire lane, resting,--the multi-millionaire whose very name shook the money-markets of the world, but who to all present appearances seemed no more than a tramp, footing it wearily along one of the many winding "short cuts" through the country between Somerset and Devon, and as unlike the actual self of him as known to Lombard Street and the Stock Exchange as a beggar is unlike a king.
"After all, it's quite as interesting as 'big game' shooting!" he said, the smile still lingering in his eyes.

"I am after 'sport,'-- in a novel fashion! I am on the lookout for new specimens of men and women,--real honest ones! I may find them,--I may not,--but the search will surely prove at least as instructive and profitable as if one went out to the Arctic regions for the purpose of killing innocent polar bears! Change and excitement are what every one craves for nowadays--I'm getting as much as I want--in my own way!" He thought over the whole situation, and reviewed with a certain sense of interest and amusement his method of action since he left London.
Benson, his valet, had packed his portmanteau, according to orders, with everything that was necessary for a short sea trip, and then had seen him off at the station for Southampton,--and to Southampton he had gone.
Arrived there, he had proceeded to a hotel, where, under an assumed name, he had stayed the night.

The next day he had left Southampton for Salisbury by train, and there staying another night, had left again for Bath and Bristol.

On the latter journey he had "tipped" the guard heavily to keep his first-class compartment reserved to himself.

This had been done; and the train being an express, stopping at very few stations, he had found leisure and opportunity to unpack his portmanteau and cut away every mark on his linen and other garments which could give the slightest clue to their possessor.