"It's my room," said the man in the bath-robe.
"Confound you," was the reply, "this is my room, and I'll prosecute you for libel."
"My room is No. 18," responded the other, "and I left my wife there half an hour ago."
He pointed to the figures on the door in proof of his contention. The man in the monocle looked at the door, and a puzzled expression passed over his face.
"Damme," he exploded, "my room is No. 15, but I certainly slept in that room all night." He darted inside and reappeared a moment after with his trousers in his hand.
"Here are my trousers to prove it. Are these your trousers?" The man in the bath-robe confessed that they were not.
"That seems to prove it all right, sir," remarked Bindle, who had come up. "A man don't sleep in a different room from his trousers, leastways, unless 'e's a 'Ighlander."
Similar disturbances were taking place along the corridor. The uproar began to attract visitors from other corridors, and soon the whole place was jammed with excited guests, in attire so varied and insufficient that one lady, who had insisted on her husband accompanying her to see what had happened, immediately sent him back to his room that his eyes might not be outraged by the lavish display of ankles and bare arms.
The more nervous among the women guests
