Once in his own stateroom, the young man began a thorough exploration, realizing more keenly than before that without baggage or money his plight might prove distressing.  But, look as he would, he could find no trace of either, and an inadvertent glance in the mirror betrayed the further fact that his linen was long since past a presentable stage.  Another despairing search showed that even his watch was gone and that his only asset, evidently overlooked by the hilarious Higgins and his co-partner in crime, was a modest three-stone finger ring.  He was regarding this speculatively when the purser knocked, then entered at his call.

“I’ve just heard that there’s a mistake about your ticket,” the new-comer began.  “It is made out to ‘Mr. Jefferson Locke,’ but the doctor says you insist your name is something else.”

“That’s right.  My name is Anthony.”

“Then how did I get this ticket?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Have you any baggage?”

“I don’t know.”

“What is your destination?”

“I don’t know.  You’ll pardon my limited vocabulary?”

“Are you joking?”

“Do I look as if I were?”

“But I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. But I must have some luggage—­a fellow wouldn’t make a trip like this without baggage, would he?”

“I should think not.  I’ll look it up for you if you wish.  But about this ticket—­”

“My dear man, don’t bother me with that.  I have worries enough as it is.  What I want now is a clean shirt and collar.”

“Yes, but this ticket says—­”

“Please!  Look at my linen.  I’ll create a scandal this way.”

“Mr. Locke—­”

“Anthony.”

“Very well, Mr. Anthony.  I must straighten out this ticket affair.  Really, I must.”

“All right, straighten away.”

“If you are not Mr. Locke, it is no good.”

“Hurrah!  Put me off.”

“You don’t understand—­the ticket is good, but—­See here, there’s something mighty strange about this.  You say your name isn’t Locke, you have no baggage, you even thought this ship was a hotel—­”

“I did.  It was a great disappointment.  And now I want a shirt.”  Anthony began to laugh.  “Funny, isn’t it?”

“You will have to buy another ticket,” said the purser, with dignity.

“A bright idea!” Kirk smiled grimly; then, turning his pockets wrong side out, continued lightly:  “You look me over and if you can find the price of a ticket I’ll give you half.”

“Then you have lost your money as well as your baggage and your identity?”

“So it would seem.”

“Impossible!”

It was plain that the officer was growing angry, so Kirk made haste to say: 

“Now let’s be friends, at least.  By-the-way—­pardon the personal nature of the question—­but—­what size shirt do you wear?”

“Seventeen.”