At last he met a towering figure in a darkened passage way.
"My dear Claudius!" he cried, holding out his hand.

But the stranger only paused, muttered something about a "mistake" and passed on.

The excitement grew on the Duke, as it became certain that Claudius was not on board, and never in the whole of his very high and mighty life had he been in such a state of mind.

Some of the passengers noted his uneasy movements and exchanged remarks in an undertone, as he passed and repassed.
"He is probably crazy," said an Englishman.
"He is probably drunk," said an American.
"He is probably a defaulting bank cashier," said a Scotchman.
"He looks very wild," said a New York mamma.
"He looks very unhappy," said her daughter.
"He is very well dressed," said her son, who got his clothes half yearly from Smallpage.
But the time passed at last, and the great thing came up to her pier, and opened her jaws and disgorged her living freight down a steep plank on to dry earth again; and the Duke, with a final look at the stream of descending passengers, forced his way ashore, and jumped into the first cab he saw.
"Drive to the nearest Elevated station," he shouted.
"Which avenue ?" inquired the driver with that placidity which cabmen assume whenever one is in a hurry.
"Oh, any avenue--damn the avenue--Sixth Avenue of course!" cried the Duke in a stew.
"Very good, sir--Sixth Avenue Elevated, did you say ?" and he deliberately closed the door and mounted to his box.
"What shall I tell her--what shall I say ?" were the questions that repeated themselves with stunning force in his ear as he rattled through the streets, and slid over the smooth Elevated Road, swiftly towards his hotel.

He had still some few hundred yards to walk from the station when he got out.