 | The Lunatic At Large |  |
3. PART III
3.1. CHAPTER I.
THE Baron and Mr Bunker walked arm-in-arm along the esplanade at St Egbert's-on-Sea.
"Aha!'' said the Baron, "zis is more fresh zan London!''
"Yes,'' replied his friend; "we are now in the presence of that stimulating element which provides patriotic Britons with music-hall songs, and dyspeptic Britons with an appetite.''
A stirring breeze swept down the long white esplanade, threatening hats and troubling skirts; the pale-green south-coast sea rumbled up the shingle; the day was bright and pleasant for the time of year, and drove the Baron's mischances from his head; altogether it seemed to Mr Bunker that the omens were good. They were both dressed in the smartest of tweed suits, and walked jauntily, like men who knew their own value. Every now and then, as they passed a pretty face, the Baron would say, "Aha, Bonker! zat is not so bad, eh?''
And Mr Bunker, who seemed not unwilling that his friend should find some entertaining distraction in St Egbert's, would look at the owners of these faces with a prospector's eye and his own unrivalled assurance.
They had walked up and down three or four times, when a desire for a different species of diversion began to overtake the Baron. It was the one kind of desire that the Baron never even tried to wrestle with.
"My vriend Bonker,'' said he, "is it not somevere about time for loncheon, eh?''
"I should say it was precisely the hour.''
"Ha, ha! zen, let us gom and eat. Himmel, zis sea is ze fellow to make von hungry!''
The Baron had taken a private suite of rooms on the first floor of the best hotel in St Egbert's, and after a very substantial lunch Mr Bunker stretched himself on the luxurious sitting-room sofa and announced his intention of having a nap.
"I shall go out,'' said the Baron. "You vill not gom?''
"I shall leave you to make a single-handed conquest,'' replied Mr Bunker. "Besides, I have a little matter I want to look into.''
So the Baron arranged his hat airily, at what he had perceived to be the most fashionable and effective English angle, and strutted off to the esplanade.
It was about two hours later that he burst excitedly into the room, crying, "Aha, mine Bonker! I haf disgovered zomzing!'' and then he stopped in some surprise. "Ello, vat make you, my vriend?''
His friend, in fact, seemed to be somewhat singularly employed. Through a dense cloud of tobacco-smoke you could just pick him out of the depths of an armchair, his feet resting on the mantelpiece, while his lap and all the floor round about were covered with immense books.
He looked up with a smile. "You may well wonder, my dear Baron. The fact is, I am looking for a name.''
"A name! vat name?''
"Alas! if I knew what it was I should stop looking, and I confess I'm rather sick of the job.''
"Vich vay do you look, zen?''
"Simply by wading my way through all the lists of names I could steal or borrow. It's devilish dry work.''
"Ze name of a vriend, is it?''
"Yes; but I'm afraid I must wait till it comes. And what is this discovery, Baron? A petticoat, I presume. After all, they are the only things worth finding,'' and he shut the books one after another.
"A petticoat with ze fairest girl inside it!'' exclaimed the Baron, rapturously.
"Your eyes seem to have been singularly penetrating, Baron. Was she dark or fair, tall or short, fat or slender, widow, wife, or maid?''
"Fair, viz blue eyes, short pairhaps but not too short, slender as a-a-drom-stick, and I vould say a maid; at least I see vun stout old lady mit her, mozzer and daughter I soppose.''
"And did this piece of perfection seem to appreciate you?''
"Vy should I know? Zey are ze real ladies and pair
Mr Bunker laughed with reminiscent amusement, and inquired, "And how did the romance end—in a cab, Baron?''
"Ha, ha, ha!'' laughed the Baron; " better zan zat, Bonker—moch better!''
Mr Bunker raised his eyebrows.
"It's hardly the time of year for a romance to end in a bathing-machine. You followed the divinity to her rented heaven, perhaps?''
The Baron bent forward and answered in a stage whisper, "Zey live in zis hotel, Bonker!''
"Then I can only wish you joy, Baron, and if my funds allow me, send her a wedding present.''
"Ach, not quite so fast, my vriend! I am not caught so easy.''
"My dear fellow, a week at close quarters is sufficient to net any man.''
"Ven I marry,'' replied the Baron, "moch most be considered. A von Blitzenberg does not mate viz every vun.''
"A good many families have made the same remark, but one does not always meet the fathers-in-law.''
"Ha, ha! ve shall see. Bot, Bonker, she is lofly!''
The Baron awaited dinner with even more than his usual ardour. He dressed with the greatest care, and at an absurdly early hour was already urging his friend to come down and take their places. Indeed after a time there was no withholding him, and they finally took their seats in the dining-room before anybody else.
At what seemed to the impatient Baron unconscionably long intervals a few people dropped in and began to study their menus and glance with an air of uncomfortable suspicion at their neighbours.
"I vonder vill she gom,'' he said three or four times at least.
"Console yourself, my dear Baron,'' his friend would reply; "they always come. That's seldom the difficulty.''
And the Baron would dally with his victuals in the most unwonted fashion, and growl at the rapidity with which the courses followed one another.
"Do zey suppose ve vish to eat like—?'' he began, and then laying his hand on his friend's sleeve, he whispered, "She goms!''
Mr Bunker turned his head just in time to see in the doorway the Countess of Grillyer and the Lady Alicia à Fyre.
"Is she not fair?'' asked the Baron, excitedly.
"I entirely approve of your taste, Baron. I have only once seen any one quite like her before.''
With a gratified smile the Baron filled his glass, while his friend seemed amused by some humorous reflection of his own.
The Lady Alicia and her mother had taken their seats at a table a little way off, and at first their eyes never happened to turn in the direction of the two friends. But at last, after looking at the ceiling, the carpet, the walls, the other people, everything else in the room it seemed, Lady Alicia's glance fell for an instant on the Baron. That nobleman looked as interesting as a
The glance fell, and the Lady Alicia blushed down to the diamonds in her necklace.
The Baron insisted on lingering over his dinner till the charmer was finished, and so by a fortuitous coincidence they left the room immediately behind the Countess. The Baron passed them in the passage, and a few yards farther he looked round for his friend, and the Countess turned to look for her daughter.
They saw Lady Alicia following with an intensely unconscious expression, while Mr Bunker was in the act of returning to the dining-room.
"I wanted to secure a table for breakfast,'' he explained.
3.2. CHAPTER II.
The Baron was in high hopes of seeing the fair unknown at breakfast, but it seemed she must be either breakfasting in her own room or lying long abed.
"I think I shall go out for a little constitutional,'' said Mr Bunker, when he had finished. "I suppose the hotel has a stronger attraction for you.''
"Ach, yes, I shall remain,'' his friend replied. "Pairhaps I may see zem.''
"Take care then, Baron!''
"I shall not propose till you return, Bonker!''
"No,'' said Mr Bunker to himself, "I don't think you will.''
Just outside St Egbert's there is a high breezy sweep of downs, falling suddenly to a chalky seaward cliff. It overlooks the town and the undulating inland country and a great spread of shining sea; and even without a spy-glass you can see sail after sail and smoke-wreath after smoke-wreath go by all day long.
But Mr Bunker had apparently walked there for other reasons than to see the view. He did stop once or twice, but it was only to scan the downs ahead, and at the sight of a fluttering skirt he showed no interest in anything else, but made a straight line for its owner. For her part, the lady seemed to await his coming. She gathered her countenance into an expression of as perfect unconcern as a little heightening of her colour would allow her, and returned his salute with rather a distant bow. But Mr Bunker was not to be damped by this hint of barbed wire. He held out his hand and exclaimed cordially, "My dear Lady Alicia! this is charming of you!''
"Of course you understand, Mr Beveridge, it's only—''
"Perfectly,'' he interrupted, gaily; "I understand everything I should and nothing I shouldn't. In fact, I have altered little, except in the trifling matter of a beard, a moustache or two, and, by the way, a name.''
"A name?''
"I am now Francis Bunker, but as much at your service as ever.''
"But why—I mean, have you really changed your name?''
"Circumstances have changed it, just as circumstances shaved me.''
Lady Alicia made a great endeavour to look haughty. "I do not quite understand, Mr—''
"Bunker—a temporary title, but suggestive, and simple for the tradesmen.''
"I do not understand your conduct. Why have you changed your name?''
"Why not?''
This retort was so evidently unanswerable that Lady Alicia changed her inquiry.
"Where have you been?''
"Till yesterday, in London.''
"Then you didn't go to your own parish?'' she demanded, reproachfully.
"There were difficulties,'' he replied; "in fact, a certified lunatic is not in great demand as a parish priest. They seem to prefer them uncertified.''
"But didn't you try?''
"Hard, but it was no use. The bishop was out of town, and I had to wait till his return; besides, my position was somewhat insecure. I have had at least two remarkable escapes since I saw you last.''
"Are you safe here?'' she asked, hurriedly.
"With your consent, yes.''
She looked a little troubled. "I don't know that I am doing right, Mr Bev—Bunker, but—''
"Thank you, my friend,'' he interrupted, tenderly.
"Don't,'' she began, hastily. "You mustn't talk like—''
"Francis Beveridge?'' he interrupted. "The trouble is, this rascal Bunker bears an unconscionably awkward resemblance to our old friend.''
"You must see that it is quite—ridiculous.''
"Absurd,'' he agreed,—"perfectly preposterous. I laugh whenever I think of it!''
Poor Lady Alicia felt like a man at a telephone who has been connected with the wrong person. Again she made a desperate shift to fall back on a becoming pride.
"What do you mean?'' she demanded.
"If I mean anything at all, which is always rather doubtful,'' he replied, candidly, "I mean that Beveridge and his humbug were creatures of an occasion, just as Bunker and his are of another. The one occasion is passed, and with it the first entertaining gentleman has vanished into space. The second gentleman will doubtless follow when his time is up. In fact, I may be said to be a series of dissolving views.''
"Then isn't what you said true?''
"I'm afraid you must be more specific; you see I've talked so much.''
"What you said about yourself—and your work.''
He shook his head humorously. "I have no means of checking my statements.''
She looked at him in a troubled way, and then her eyes fell.
"At least,'' she said, "you won't—you mustn't treat me as—as you did.''
"As Beveridge did? Certainly not; Bunker is the soul of circumspection. Besides, he doesn't require to get out of an asylum.''
"Then it was only to get away?'' she cried, turning scarlet.
"Let us call it so,'' he replied, looking pensively out to sea.
It seemed wiser to Lady Alicia to change the subject.
"Who is the friend you are staying with?'' she asked, suddenly.
"My old friend the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, and your own most recent admirer,'' he replied. "I am at present living with, in fact I may say upon, him.''
"Does he know?''
"If you meet him, you had perhaps better not inquire into my past history.''
"I meant, does he know about—about your knowing me?''
"Bless them!'' thought Mr Bunker; "one forgets they're not always thinking about us!''
"My noble friend has no idea that I have been so fortunate,'' he replied.
Lady Alicia looked relieved. "Who is he?'' she asked.
"A German nobleman of great wealth, long descent, and the most accommodating disposition. He is at present exploring England under my guidance, and I flatter myself that he has already seen and done a number of things that are not on most programmes.''
Lady Alicia was silent for a minute. Then she said
"A letter? No,'' he replied, in some surprise.
"I wrote twice—because you asked me to, and I thought—I wondered if you were safe.''
"To what address did you write?''
"The address you gave me.''
"And what was that?'' he asked, still evidently puzzled.
"You said care of the Archbishop of York would find you.''
Mr Bunker abruptly looked the other way.
"By Jove!'' he said, as if lost in speculation, "I must find out what the matter was. I can't imagine why they haven't been forwarded.''
Lady Alicia appeared a little dissatisfied.
"Was that a real address?'' she asked, suddenly.
"Perfectly,'' he replied; "as real as Pentonville Jail or the House of Commons.'' ("And as likely to find me,'' he added to himself.)
Lady Alicia seemed to hesitate whether to pursue the subject further, but in the middle of her debate Mr Bunker asked, "By the way, has Lady Grillyer any recollection of having seen me before?''
"No, she doesn't remember you at all.''
"Then we shall meet as strangers?''
"Yes, I think it would be better; don't you?''
"It will save our imaginations certainly.''
Lady Alicia looked at him as though she expected something more; but as nothing came, she said, "I think it's time I went back.''
"For the present then au revoir, my dear Alicia. I beg your pardon, Lady Alicia; it was that rascal Beveridge who made the slip. It now remains to make your formal acquaintance.''
"You—you mustn't try!''
"The deuce is in these people beginning with B!'' he laughed. "They seem to do things without trying.''
He pressed her hand, raised his hat, and started back to the town. She, on her part, lingered to let him get a clear start of her, and her blue eyes looked as though a breeze had blown across and ruffled them.
Mr Bunker had reached the esplanade, and was sauntering easily back towards the hotel, looking at the people and smiling now and then to himself, when he observed with considerable astonishment two familiar figures strolling towards him. They were none other than the Baron and the Countess, engaged in animated conversation, and apparently on the very best terms with each other. At the sight of him the Baron beamed joyfully.
"Aha, Bonker, so you haf returned!'' he cried. "In ze meanvile I haf had vun great good fortune. Let me present my friend Mr Bonker, ze Lady Grillyer.''
The Countess bowed most graciously, and raising a pair of tortoise-shell-rimmed eye-glasses mounted on a stem of the same material, looked at Mr Bunker through these with a by no means disapproving glance.
At first sight it was evident that Lady Alicia must "take after'' her noble father. The Countess was aquiline of nose, large of person, and emphatic in her voice and manner.
"You are the `showman,' Mr Bunker, are you not?'' she said, with a smile for which many of her acquaintances would have given a tolerable percentage of their incomes.
"It seems,'' replied Mr Bunker, smiling back agreeably, "that the Baron is now the showman, and I must congratulate him on his first venture.''
For an instant the Countess seemed a trifle taken aback. It was a considerable number of years since she had been addressed in precisely this strain, and in fact at no time had her admirers ventured quite so dashingly to the attack. But there was something entirely irresistible in Mr Bunker's manner, partly perhaps because he never made the mistake of heeding a first rebuff. The Countess coughed, then smiled a little again, and said to the Baron, "You didn't tell me that your showman supplied the little speeches as well.''
"I could not know it; zere has not before been ze reason for a pretty speech,'' responded the Baron, gallantly.
If Lady Grillyer had been anybody else, one would have said that she actually giggled. Certainly a little wave of scandalised satisfaction rippled all over her.
"Oh, really!'' she cried, "I don't know which of you is the worst offender.''
All this time, as may be imagined, Mr Bunker had been in a state of high mystification at his friend's unusual adroitness.
"How the deuce did he get hold of her?'' he said to himself.
In the next pause the Baron solved the riddle.
"You vil vunder, Bonker,'' he said, "how I did gom to know ze Lady Grillyer.''
"I envied, certainly,'' replied his friend, with a side glance at the now purring Countess.
"She vas of my introdogtions, bot till after you vent out zis morning I did not lairn her name. Zen I said to myself, `Ze sun shines, Himmel is kind! Here now is ze fair Lady Grillyer—my introdogtion!' and zo zat is how, you see.''
"To think of the Baron being here and our only finding each other out by chance!'' said the Countess.
"By a fortunate providence for me!'' exclaimed the Baron, fervently.
"Baron,'' said the Countess, trying hard to look severe, "you must really keep some of these nice speeches for my daughter. Which reminds me, I wonder where she can be?''
"Ach, here she goms!'' cried the Baron.
"Why, how did you know her?'' asked the Countess.
"I—I did see her last night at dinnair,'' explained the Baron, turning red.
"Ah, of course, I remember,'' replied the Countess, in a matter-of-fact tone; but her motherly eye was sharp, and already it began to look on the highly eligible Rudolph with more approval than ever.
"My daughter Alicia, the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, Mr Bunker,'' she said the next moment.
The Baron went nearly double as he bowed, and the flourish of his hat stirred the dust on the esplanade. Mr Bunker's salutation was less profound, but his face ex
3.3. CHAPTER III.
"Alicia,'' said the Countess, "it was really a most fortunate coincidence our meeting the Baron at St Egbert's.''
She paused for a reply and looked expectantly at her daughter. It was not the first time in the course of the morning that Lady Alicia had listened to similar observations, and perhaps that was why she answered somewhat listlessly, "Yes, wasn't it?''
The Countess frowned, and continued with emphasis, "I consider him one of the most agreeable and best informed young men I have ever met.''
"Is he?'' said Lady Alicia, absently.
"I wonder, Alicia, you hadn't noticed it,'' her mother observed, severely; "you talked with him most of the afternoon. I should have thought that no observant, well-bred girl would have failed to have been struck with his air and conversation.''
"I—I thought him very pleasant, mamma.''
"I am glad you had so much sense. He is extremely pleasant.''
As Lady Alicia made no reply, the Countess felt obliged to continue his list of virtues herself.
"He is of most excellent family, Alicia, one of the oldest in Bavaria. I don't remember what I heard his income was in pfennigs, or whatever they measure money by in Germany, but I know that it is more than £20,000 a-year in English money. A very large sum nowadays,'' she added, as if £20,000 had grown since she was a girl.
"Yes, mamma.''
"He is considered, besides, an unusually promising and intelligent young nobleman, and in Germany, where noblemen are still constantly used, that says a great deal for him.''
"Does it, mamma?''
"Certainly it does. Education there is so severe that young Englishmen are beginning to know less than they ever did, and in most cases that isn't saying much. Compare the Baron with the young men you meet here!''
She looked at her daughter triumphantly, and Alicia could only reply, "Yes, mamma?''
"Compare them and see the difference. Look at the Baron's friend, Mr Bunker, who is a very agreeable and amusing man, I admit, but look at the difference!''
"What is it?'' Alicia could not help asking.
"What is it, Alicia! It is—ah—it's— er—it is, in short, the effect of a carefully cultivated mind and good blood.''
"But don't you think Mr Bunker cultivated, mamma— and—and—well—bred?''
"He has an amusing way of saying things,—but then you must remember that the Baron is doubtless equally entertaining in his native language,—and possibly a superficial knowledge of a few of the leading questions of the day; but the Baron talked to me for half an hour on the relations of something or other in Germany to— er—something else—a very important point, I assure you.''
"I always thought him very clever,'' said Lady Alicia with a touch of warmth, and then instantly changed colour at the horrible slip.
"You always,'' said the Countess in alarmed astonishment; "you hardly spoke to him yesterday, and—had you met him before?''
"I—I meant the Baron, mamma.''
"But I have just been saying that he was unusually clever.''
"But I thought, I mean it seemed as though you considered him only well informed.''
Lady Alicia's blushes and confusion deepened. Her mother looked at her with a softening eye. Suddenly she rose, kissed her affectionately, and said with the tenderness of triumph, "My dear girl! Of course he is; clever, well informed, and a most desirable young man. My Alicia could not do—''
She stopped, as if she thought this was perhaps a little premature (though the Countess's methods inclined to the summary and decisive), and again kissing her daughter
Poor Lady Alicia hardly knew whether to feel more relieved at her escape or dismayed at the construction put upon her explanation. She went out to meet the Baron, determined to give no further colour to her mother's unlucky misconception. The Countess was far too experienced and determined a general to leave it at all doubtful who should walk by whose side, and who should have the opportunity of appreciating whose merits, but Lady Alicia was quite resolved that the Baron's blandishments should fall on stony ground.
But a soft heart and an undecided mouth are treacherous companions. The Baron was so amiable and so gallant, that at the end of half an hour she was obliged to abate the strictness of her resolution. She should treat him with the friendliness of a brother. She learned that he had no sisters: her decision was confirmed.
The enamoured and delighted Baron was in the seventh heaven of happy loquacity. He poured out particulars of his travels, his more recordable adventures, his opinions on various social and political matters, and at last even of the family ghost, the hereditary carpet-beatership, and the glories of Bavaria. And Lady Alicia listened with what he could not doubt was an interest touched with tenderness.
"I wonder,'' she said, artlessly, "that you find anything to admire in England—compared with Bavaria, I mean.''
"Two zings I haf not zere,'' replied the Baron, waving his hand round towards the horizon. "Vun is ze vet sheet of flowing sea—says not your poet so? Ze ozzer'' (laying his hand on his heart) "is ze Lady Alicia à Fyre.''
There are some people who catch sentiment whenever it happens to be in the air, just as others almost equally unfortunate regularly take hay-fever.
Lady Alicia's reply was much softer than she intended, especially as she could have told anybody that the Baron's compliment was the merest figure of speech.
"You needn't have included me: I'm sure I'm not a great attraction.''
"Ze sea is less, so zat leaves none,'' the Baron smiled.
"Didn't you see anybody—I mean, anything in London that attracted you—that you liked?''
"Zat I liked, yes, zat pairhaps for the moment attracted me; but not zat shall still attract me ven I am gone avay.''
The Baron sighed this time, and she felt impelled to reply, with the most sisterly kindness, "I—we should, of course, like to think that you didn't forget us alto-gether.''
"You need not fear.''
Then Lady Alicia began to realise that this was more like a second cousin than a brother, and with sudden sprightliness she cried, "I wonder where that steamer's going!''
The Baron turned his eyes towards his first-named attraction, but for a professed lover of the ocean his interest appeared slight. He only replied absently, "Ach, zo?''
A little way behind them walked Mr Bunker and the Countess. The attention of Lady Grillyer was divided between the agreeable conversation of her companion and the pleasant spectacle of a fabulous number of pfennigs a-year bending its titled head over her daughter. In the middle of one of Mr Bunker's most amusing stories she could not forbear interrupting with a complacent "they do make a very handsome couple!''
Mr Bunker politely stopped his narrative, and looked critically from his friend's gaily checked back to Lady Alicia's trim figure.
"Pray go on with your story, Mr Bunker,'' said the Countess, hastily, realising that she had thought a little too loudly.
"They are like,'' responded Mr Bunker; replying to her first remark—"they are like a pair of gloves.''
The Countess raised her brows and looked at him sharply.
"I mean, of course, the best quality.''
"I think,'' said the Countess, suspiciously, "that you spoke a little carelessly.''
"My simile was a little premature?''
"I think so,'' said the Countess, decisively.
"Let us call them then an odd pair,'' smiled Mr Bunker, unruffled; "and only hope that they'll turn out to be the same size and different hands.''
The Countess actually condescended to smile back.
"She is a dear child,'' she murmured.
"His income, I think, is sufficient,'' he answered.
Humour was not conspicuous in the Grillyer family. The Countess replied seriously, "I am one of those out-of-date people, Mr Bunker, who consider some things come before money, but the Baron's birth and position are fortunately unimpeachable.''
"While his mental qualities,'' said Mr Bunker, "are, in my experience, almost unique.''
The Countess was confirmed in her opinion of Mr Bunker's discrimination.
Late that night, after they had parted with their friends, the Baron smoked in the most unwonted silence while Mr Bunker dozed on the sofa. Several times Rudolph threw restive glances at his friend, as if he had something on his mind that he needed a helping hand to unburden himself of. At last the silence grew so intolerable that he screwed up his courage and with desperate resolution exclaimed, "Bonker!''
Mr Bunker opened his eyes and sat up.
"Bonker, I am in loff!''
Mr Bunker smiled and stretched himself out again.
"I have also been in love,'' he replied.
"You are not now?''
"Alas! no.''
"Vy alas?''
"Because follies without illusions get so infernally dull, Baron.''
The Baron smiled a little foolishly.
"I haf ze illusions, I fear.'' Then he broke out enthusiastically, "Ach, bot is she not lofly, Bonker? If she will bot lof me back I shall be ze happiest man out of heaven!''
"You have wasted no time, Baron.''
The Baron shook his head in melancholy pleasure.
"You are quite sure it is really love this time?'' his friend pursued.
"Qvite!'' said the Baron, with the firmness of a martyr.
"There are so many imitations.''
"Not so close zat zey can deceive!''
"Ha, ha, ha!'' laughed Mr Bunker. "These first symptoms are common to them all, and yet the varieties of the disease are almost beyond counting. I myself have suffered from it in eight different forms. There was the virulent, spotted-all-over variety, known as calf-love; there was the kind that accompanied itself by a course of the Restoration dramatists; another form I may call the strayed-Platonic, and that may be subdivided into at least two; then there was—''
"Schtop! schtop!'' cried the Baron. "Ha, ha, ha! Zat will do! Teufel! I most examine my heart strictly. And yet, Bonker, I zink my loff is anozzer kind—ze real!''
"They are all that, Baron; but have it your own way. Anything I can do to make you worse shall be done.''
"Zanks, my best of friends,'' said the Baron, warmly, seizing his hand; "I knew you would stand by me!''
Mr Bunker gave a little laugh, and returning the pressure, replied, "My dear fellow, I'd do anything to oblige a friend in such an interesting condition.''
3.4. CHAPTER IV.
The Baron was a few minutes late in joining the party at lunch, and when he appeared he held an open letter in his hand. It was only the middle of the next day, and yet he could have sworn that last night he was comparatively whole-hearted, he felt so very much more in love already.
"Yet anozzer introdogtion has found me out,'' he said as he took his seat. "I have here a letter of invitation vich I do not zink I shall accept.''
He threw an amorous glance at Lady Alicia, which her watchful mother rightly interpreted as indicating the cause of his intended refusal.
"Who is it this time?'' asked Mr Bunker.
"Sir Richard Brierley of Brierley Park, Dampshire. Is zat how you pronounce it?''
"Sir Richard Brierley!'' exclaimed the Countess; "why, Alicia and I are going to visit some relatives of ours who live only six miles from Brierley Park! When has he asked you, Baron?''
"Ze end of next week.''
"How odd! We are going down to Dampshire at the end of next week too. You must accept, Baron!''
"I shall!'' exclaimed the overjoyed Baron. "Shall ve go, Bonker?''
"I'm not asked, I'm afraid.''
"Ach, bot zat is nozzing. I shall tell him.''
"As you please, Baron,'' replied Mr Bunker, with a half glance at Lady Alicia.
The infatuated Baron had already begun to dread the inevitable hour of separation, and this piece of good fortune put him into the highest spirits. He felt so amiable towards the whole world that when the four went out for a stroll in the afternoon he lingered for a minute by Lady Grillyer's side, and in that minute Mr Bunker and Lady Alicia were out of hail ahead. The Baron's face fell.
"Shall I come down to this place?'' said Mr Bunker.
"Would you like to?''
"I should be sorry,'' he replied, "to part with—the Baron.''
Lady Alicia had expected a slightly different ending to this sentence, and so, to tell the truth, Mr Bunker had intended.
"Oh, if you can't stay away from the Baron, you had better go.''
"It is certainly very hard to tear myself away from so charming a person as the Baron; perhaps you can feel for me?''
"I think he is very—nice.''
"He thinks you very nice.''
"Does he?'' said Lady Alicia, with great indifference, and a moment later changed the subject.
Meanwhile the Baron was growing very uneasy. Of course it was quite natural that Mr Bunker should find it pleasant to walk for a few minutes by the side of the fairest creature on earth, and very possibly he was artfully
"Need we walk quite so fast, Baron?'' she suggested; and Lady Grillyer's suggestions were of the kind that are evidently meant to be acted upon.
"Ach, I did forged,'' said the Baron, absently, and without further remark he slackened his pace for a few yards and then was off again.
"You were telling me,'' gasped the Countess, "of something you thought of—doing when—you went—home.''
"Zo? Oh yes, it vas—Teufel! I do not remember.''
"Really, Baron,'' said the Countess, decidedly, "I cannot go any farther at this rate. Let us turn. The others will be turning too, in a minute.''
In fact the unlucky Baron had clean run Lady Grillyer's maternal instincts off their feet, and he suffered for it by seeing nothing of either his friend or his charmer for an hour and a half.
That night he accepted Sir Richard's invitation, but said nothing whatever about bringing a friend.
For the next week Rudolph was in as many states of mind as there were hours in each day. He walked and rode and drove with Lady Alicia through the most romantic spots he could find. He purchased a large assortment of golf-clubs, and under her tuition essayed to play
Every now and then the greenest spasms of jealousy would seize him. Why did she elect to disappear with Mr Bunker on the very morning that he had resolved should settle his fate? It is true he had made the same resolution every morning, but on this particular one he had no doubt he would have put his fate to the touch. And why on a certain moonlight evening was he left to the unsentimental company of the Countess?
He made no further reference to the visit to Brierley Park; in fact he shunned discussion of any kind with his quondam bosom friend.
The time slipped past, till the visit to St Egbert's was almost at an end. On the day after to-morrow all four were going to leave (where Mr Bunker was going, his friend never troubled to inquire).
They sat together latish in the evening in the Baron's room. That very afternoon Lady Alicia had spent more time in Mr Bunker's society than in his, and the Baron felt that the hour had come for an explanation.
"Bonker, I haf a suspection!'' he exclaimed, suddenly. "It is not I, bot you, who are ze friend to ze beautiful Lady Alicia. You are not doing me fair!''
"My dear Baron!''
"It is so: you are not doing me fair,'' the Baron reiterated.
"My dear fellow,'' replied Mr Bunker, "it is you are so much in love that you have lost your wonted courage. You don't use your chances.''
"I do not get zem.''
"Nonsense, Baron! I haven't spent one hour in Lady Alicia's company to your twenty-four, and yet if I'd been matrimonially inclined I could have proposed twice over. You've had the chance of being accepted fifty times.''
"I haf not been accepted vunce,'' said the Baron, moodily.
"Have you put the question?''
"I haf not dared.''
"Well, my dear Baron, whose fault is that?''
The Baron was silent.
"Ask her to-morrow.''
"No, Bonker,'' said the Baron, sadly; "she treats me not like a lover. She talks of friendship. I do not vish a frient!''
Mr Bunker looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "You don't think you have touched her heart?'' he asked at length.
"I fear not.''
"You must try an infallible recipe for winning a woman's heart. You must be in trouble.''
"In trouble!''
"I have tried it once myself, with great success.''
"Bot how?''
"You must fall ill.''
"Bot I cannot; I am too healthful, alas!''
Mr Bunker smiled artfully. "They come to tea in our rooms to-morrow, you know. By then, Baron, you must be laid up, ill or not, just as you please. A grain of Lady Alicia's sympathy is worth more than a ton of even your wit.''
The standard chosen for the measurement of his wit escaped the Baron, the scheme delighted him.
"Ha, Bonker! schön! I tvig! Goot!'' he cried. "How shall ve do?''
"Leave it to me.''
The Baron reflected, and his smile died away.
"Sopposing,'' he said, slowly, "zey find out? Is it vise? Is it straight?''
"They can't find out. They go the next morning, and what's to prevent your making a quick recovery and pluckily going down to Brierley Park as the interesting convalescent? She will know that you've made a dangerous journey on her account.''
The Baron's face cleared again.
"Let us try!'' he said; "anyzing is better zan my present state. Bot, be careful, Bonker!''
"I shall take the most minute precautions,'' replied Mr Bunker.
3.5. CHAPTER V.
The next morning the two conspirators breakfasted early. The Baron seemed a little nervous now that it came so near the venture, but his friend was as cheerful as a schoolboy, and his confident air soon put fresh courage into Rudolph.
Mr Bunker's bedroom opened out of their common sitting-room, and so he declared that in the afternoon the Baron must be laid up there.
"Keep your room all morning,'' he said, "and look as pale as you can. I shall make my room ready for you.''
When the Baron had retired, he threw himself into a chair and gazed for a few minutes round his bedroom. Then he rang his bell, ordered the servant to make the bed immediately, and presently went out to do some shopping. On the way he sent word to the Countess, telling her only that the Baron was indisposed, but that in spite of this misfortune he hoped he should have the pleasure of their company at tea. The rest of the morning he spent in his bedroom, prudently keeping out of the ladies' way.
When, after a substantial lunch which he insisted upon getting up to eat, the Baron was allowed to enter the sick-room, he uttered an exclamation of astonishment,— and indeed his surprise was natural. The room was as full of flowers as a conservatory; chairs, wardrobe,
The Baron was delighted, but a little puzzled.
"Vat for are zese fishes and ze canaries?'' he asked.
"To show your love of nature.''
"Vy so?''
"There is nothing that pleases a woman more.''
"My friend, you zink of everyzing!'' exclaimed the Baron, admiringly.
When four o'clock approached he drew a night-shirt over his other garments and got into bed. Mr Bunker at first was in favour of a complete change of attire, but on his friend's expostulating against such a thorough precaution, he admitted that it would be perhaps rather like the historic blacking of Othello.
"Leave it all to me, my dear Baron,'' he said, reassuringly, as he tucked him in; and with that he went into the other room and awaited the arrival of their guests.
They came punctually. The Countess was full of concern for the "dear Baron,'' while Lady Alicia, he could not help thinking, appeared unusually reserved.
"She has either been getting a lecture from the dowager or has found something out.'' he said to himself.
However, it seemed that if she had found anything out it could have nothing to do with the Baron's indisposition, for she displayed the most ingenuous sympathy, and, he thought, she even appeared to aim it pointedly at himself.
"So sudden!'' exclaimed the Countess.
"It is rather sudden, but we'll hope it may pass as quickly as it came,'' said Mr Bunker, conveying a skilful impression of deep concern veiled by a cheerful manner.
"Tell me honestly, Mr Bunker, is it dangerous?'' demanded the countess.
Mr Bunker hesitated, gave a half-hearted laugh, and replied, "Oh, dear, no! that is—at present, Lady Grillyer, we have really no reason to be alarmed.''
"I am so sorry,'' murmured Lady Alicia.
Her mother looked at her approvingly.
"Poor Baron!'' she said, in a tone of the greatest commiseration.
"So far from home!'' sighed Mr Bunker. "And yet so cheerful through it all,'' he added.
"What did you say was the matter?'' asked the Countess.
Mr Bunker had thought it both wiser and more effective to maintain a little mystery round his friend's malady.
"The doctor hasn't yet given a decided opinion,'' he replied.
"Can't we do anything?'' said Lady Alicia, softly.
Mr Bunker thought the guests were nearly worked up to the proper pitch of sympathy.
"Poor Rudolph!'' he exclaimed. "It would cheer him immensely, I know, and ease my own anxiety as well, if you would venture in to see him for a few minutes. In such a case there is no sympathy so welcome as a woman's.''
The Countess glanced at her daughter, and wavered for an instant between those proprieties for which she was a famous stickler and this admirable chance of completing the Baron's conquest.
"His relations are far away,'' said Mr Bunker, looking pensively out of the window.
"We might come in for a few minutes, Alicia?'' suggested Lady Grillyer.
"Yes, mamma,'' replied Lady Alicia, with an alacrity that rather surprised their host.
With a pleasantly dejected air he ushered the ladies into the darkened sick-room. The Baron, striving to conceal his exultation under a rueful semblance, greeted them with a languid yet happy smile.
"Ah, Lady Grillyer, zis is kind indeed! And you, Lady Alicia, how can I zank you?''
"My daughter and I are much distressed, Baron, to find our host hors de combat,'' said the Countess, graciously.
"Just when you wanted to go away too!'' added Lady Alicia, sympathetically.
The Baron emitted a happy blend of sigh and groan.
"Alas!'' he replied, "it is hard indeed.''
"You must hurry up and get better,'' said the Countess, in her most cheering sick-room manner. "It won't do to disappoint the Brierleys, you know.''
"You must come down for part of the time,'' smiled her daughter.
These expressions of sympathy so affected the Baron that he placed his hand on his brow and turned slightly away to conceal his emotion. At the same time Mr Bunker, with well-timed dramatic effect, sank wearily into a chair, and, laying his elbow on the back, hid his own face in his hand.
Their guests jumped to the most alarming conclusions, and looked from one to the other with great concern.
"Dear me!'' said the Countess, "surely it isn't so very serious, Mr Bunker; it isn't infectious, is it?''
The unlucky Baron here made his first mistake: without waiting for his more diplomatic friend to reply, he answered hastily, "Ach, no, it is bot a cold.''
Lady Grillyer's expression changed.
"A cold!'' she said. "Dear me, that can't be so very serious, Baron.''
"It is a bad cold,'' said the Baron.
By this time the ladies' eyes were growing more used to the dim light, and Mr Bunker could see that they were taking rapid stock of the garnishings.
"This, I suppose, is your cough-mixture,'' said the Countess, examining the bottle.
The Baron incautiously admitted it was.
"Two table-spoonfuls every half hour!'' she exclaimed;
"Ze doctor told me to take it so,'' replied the Baron.
The Countess turned towards Mr Bunker and said, with a touch of suspicion in her voice, "I thought, Mr Bunker, the doctor had given no opinion.''
The Baron threw a glance of intense ferocity at his friend.
"In the Baron's desire to spare your feelings,'' replied Mr Bunker, gravely, "he has been a little inaccurate; that is not precisely an ordinary cough-mixture.''
"Oh,'' said the Countess.
Lady Alicia's attention had been strongly attracted by the bath, and suddenly she exclaimed, "Why, there are goldfish in it!''
The Baron's nerve was fast deserting him.
"Ze doctor ordered zem,'' he began—"I mean, I am fond of fishes.''
The Countess looked hard at the unhappy young man, and then turned severely to his friend.
"What is the matter with the Baron?'' she demanded.
Mr Bunker saw there was nothing for it but heroic measures.
"The dog was destroyed at once,'' he replied, with intense gravity. "It is therefore impossible to say exactly what is the matter.''
"*The dog!'' cried the two ladies together.
"By this evening,'' he continued, "we shall know the worst—or the best.''
"What do you mean?'' exclaimed the Countess, withdrawing a step from the bed.
"I mean,'' replied Mr Bunker, with a happy inspiration, "that this bath is a delicate test. No victim of the dread disease of hydrophobia can bear to look—''
But the Countess gave him no time to finish. Even as he was speaking the Baron's face had passed through a series of the most extraordinary expressions, which she not unnaturally put down to premonitory symptoms.
"It's beginning already!'' she shrieked. "Alicia, my love, come quickly. How dare you expose us, sir?''
"Calm yourselves. I assure you—'' pleaded Mr Bunker, coming hastily after them, but they were at the door before him.
The hapless Baron could stand it no longer. Crying, "No, no, it is false!'' he sprang out of bed, arrayed in a tweed suit only half concealed by his night-shirt, and, forgetting all about the bath, descended with a great splash among the startled goldfish.
The Countess paused in the half-opened door and looked at him with horror that rapidly passed into intense indignation.
"I am not ill!'' he cried. "It vos zat rascal Bonker's plot. He made me! I haf not hydrophobia!''
Most unkindest cut of all, Lady Alicia went off into hysterical giggles. For a moment her mother glared at the two young men in silence, and then only remarking, "I have never been so insulted before,'' she went out, and her daughter followed her.
As the door closed Mr Bunker went off into roar after
"You rascal! you villain!'' he shouted, "zis is ze end of our friendship, Bonker! Do you use ze pistols? Tell me, sare!''
"My dear Baron,'' gasped Mr Bunker, "I could not put such an inartistic end to so fine a joke for the world.''
"You vill not fight? Coward! poltroon! I know not ze English name bad enoff for you!''
With difficulty Mr Bunker composed himself and replied, still smiling: "After all, Baron, what harm has been done? I get all the blame, and the sympathy you wanted is sure to turn to you.''
"False friend!'' thundered the Baron.
"My dear Baron!'' said Mr Bunker, mildly, "whose fault was it that the plot miscarried? If you'd only left it all to me—''
"Left it to you! Yes, I left too moch to you! Traitor, it vas a trick to vin ze Lady Alicia for yourself! Speak to me nevermore!'' And with that the infuriated nobleman rushed off to his own room.
As there was no further sign of him for the next half hour, Mr Bunker, still smiling to himself at the recollection, went out to take the air; but just as he was about to descend the stairs he spied Lady Alicia lingering in a passage. He turned back and went up to her.
She began at once in a low, hurried voice that seemed to have a strain of anger running beneath it.
"I got the two letters I wrote you returned to me to-
"I am not surprised,'' he replied.
"Then it was false?''
"As an address it was perfectly genuine, only it didn't happen to be mine.''
"Were you ever in the Church?''
"Not to my personal knowledge.''
"Yet you said you were?''
"I was in an asylum.''
She looked up at him with fine contempt, while he smiled back at her with great amusement.
"You have deceived me,'' she said, "and you have treated your other friend—who is far too good for you— disgracefully. Have you anything to say for yourself?''
"Not a word,'' he replied, cheerfully.
"You must never treat me again as—as I let you.''
As a smile played for an instant about his face, she added quickly, "I don't suppose I shall ever see you again. In future we are not likely to meet.''
"The lady and the lunatic?'' said he. "Well, perhaps not. Good-bye, and better luck.''
"Good-bye,'' she answered coldly, and added as they parted, "my mother, of course, is extremely angry with you.''
"There,'' he said with a smile, "you see I still come in useful.''
She hurried away, and Mr Bunker walked slowly downstairs and out of the hotel.
"It seems to me,'' he reflected, "that I shall have to set out on my adventures again alone.''
3.6. CHAPTER VI.
The Baron's natural good temper might have forgiven his friend, but all night he was a prey to something against which no temper is proof. The Baron was bitterly jealous. All through breakfast he never spoke a word, and when Mr Bunker asked him what train he intended to take, he replied curtly, as he went to the door, "Ze 5.30.''
"And where do you go now?''
"Vat is zat to you? I go for a valk. I vould be alone.''
"Good-bye, then, Baron,'' said Mr Bunker. "I think I shall go up to town.''
"Go, zen,'' replied the Baron, opening the door; "I haf no furzer vish to see a treacherous sponge zat vill neizer be true nor fight, bot jost takes money.''
He slammed the door and went out. If he had waited for a moment, he would have seen a look in Mr Bunker's face that he had never seen before. He half started from his chair to follow, and then sat down again and thought with his lips very tight set.
All at once they broke into a smile that was grimmer than anything the Baron had known.
"I accept your challenge, Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg,'' he said to himself; "but the weapons I shall choose myself.''
He took a telegraph form, wrote and despatched a
When a servant, later in the day, was performing, under the Baron's directions, the same office for him, a series of discoveries that still further disturbed his peace of mind were jointly made. Not only the more sporting portions of his wardrobe but his gun and cartridges as well, had vanished, and, search and storm as he liked, there was not a trace of them to be found.
"Ze rascal!'' he muttered; "I did not zink he was zief as well.''
It is hardly wonderful that he arrived at Brierley station in anything but an amiable frame of mind. There, to his great annoyance and surprise, he found no signs of Sir Richard's carriage; there were no stables near, and, after fuming for some time on the platform, he was forced to leave his luggage with the station-master and proceed on foot to Brierley Park.
He arrived shortly before seven o'clock, after a dark and muddy tramp, and, still swearing under his breath, pulled the bell with indignant energy.
"I am ze Baron von Blitzenberg, bot zere vas no carriage at ze station,'' he informed the butler in his haughtiest tones.
The man looked at him suspiciously.
"The Baron arrived this morning,'' he said.
"Ze Baron? Vat Baron? I am ze Baron!''
"I shall fetch Sir Richard,'' said the butler, turning away.
Presently a stout florid gentleman, accompanied by three friends, all evidently very curious and amused about something, came to the door, and, to the poor Baron's amazement and horror, he recognised in one of these none other than Mr Bunker, arrayed with much splendour in his own ornate shooting suit.
"What do you want?'' asked the florid gentleman, sternly.
"Have I ze pleasure of addressing Sir Richard Brierley?'' inquired the Baron, raising his hat and bowing profoundly.
"You have.''
"Zen I must tell you zat I am ze Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg.''
"Gom, gom, my man!'' interposed Mr Bunker. "I know you. Zis man, Sir Richard, has before annoyed me. He is vat you call impostor, cracked; he has vollowed me from Germany. Go avay, man!''
"You are impostor! You scoundrel, Bonker!'' shouted the wrathful Baron. "He is no Baron, Sir Richard! Ha! Vould you again deceive me, Bonker?''
"You must lock him up, I fear,'' said Mr Bunker. "To-morrow, my man, you vill see ze police.''
So completely did the Baron lose his head that he became almost inarticulate with rage: his protestations, however, were not of the slightest avail. That morning Sir Richard had received a wire informing him that the Baron was coming by an earlier train than he had originally intended, and, since his arrival, the spurious nobleman had so ingratiated himself with his host that Sir
"The scoundrelly German impostor!'' exclaimed a young man, a fellow visitor of the Baron Bunker's, to a tall, military-looking gentleman.
Colonel Savage seemed lost in thought.
"It is a curious thing, Trelawney,'' he replied, at length, "that the footman who attends the Baron should have told my man—who, of course, told me—that a number of his things are marked `Francis Beveridge.' It is also rather strange that this impostor should have known so little of the Baron's movements as to arrive several hours after him, assuming he had hatched a plot to impersonate him.''
"But the man's obviously mad.''
"Must be,'' said the colonel.
The house party were assembled in the drawing-room waiting for dinner to be announced. The bogus Baron was engaged in an animated discussion with Colonel Savage on the subject of Bavarian shootings, and the colonel having omitted to inform him that he had some personal experience of these, Mr Bunker was serving up such of his friend's anecdotes as he could remember with sauce more peculiarly his own.
"Five hondred vild boars,'' he was saying, "eight hondred brace of partridges, many bears, and rabbits so
But at that moment his attention was sharply arrested by a question of Lady Brierley's.
"Has Dr Escott arrived?'' she asked.
The Baron Bunker paused, and in spite of his habitual coolness, the observant colonel noticed that he started ever so slightly.
"He came half an hour ago,'' replied Sir Richard. "Ah, here he is.''
As he spoke, a well-remembered figure came into the room, and after a welcome from his hostess, the dinner procession started.
"Whoever is that tall fair man in front?'' Dr Escott asked his partner as they crossed the hall.
"Oh, that's the Baron von Blitzenberg: such an amusing man! We are all in love with him already.''
All through dinner the spurious Baron saw that Dr Escott's eyes turned continually and curiously on him; yet never for an instant did his spirits droop or his conversation flag. Witty and charming as ever, he discoursed in his comical foreign accent to the amusement of all within hearing, and by the time the gentlemen adjourned to the billiard-room, he had established the reputation of being the most delightful German ever seen. Yet Dr Escott grew more suspicious and bewildered, and Mr Bunker felt that he was being narrowly watched. The skill at billiards of a certain Francis Beveridge used to be the object of the doctor's unbounded
That nobleman knew well the danger of displaying his old dexterity, and to the onlookers it soon became apparent that this branch of his education had been neglected. He not only missed the simplest shots, but seemed very ignorant of the rules of the English game, and in consequence he came in for a little good-natured chaff from Sir Richard and Trelawney. When the colonel's score stood at 90 and the Baron had scarcely reached 25 Trelawney cried, "I'll bet you ten to one you don't win, Baron!''
"What in?'' asked the Baron, and the colonel noticed that for the first time he pronounced a w correctly.
"Sovereigns,'' said Trelawney, gaily.
The temptation was irresistible.
"Done!'' said the Baron. With a professional disregard for conventions he bolted the white into the middle pocket, leaving his own ball nicely beside the red. Down in its turn went the red, and Mr Bunker was on the spot. Three followed three in monotonous succession, Trelawney's face growing longer and Dr Escott getting more and more excited, till with a smile Mr Bunker laid down his cue, a sensational winner.
His victory was received in silence: Trelawney handed over two five-pound notes without a word, and the colonel returned to his whisky-and-soda. Dr Escott could contain himself no longer, and whispering something to Sir Richard, the two left the room.
Imperturbable as ever, Mr Bunker talked gaily for a
A minute or two later Sir Richard, with an anxious face, returned with Dr Escott.
"Where is the Baron?'' he asked.
"Gone to join the ladies,'' replied Trelawney, adding under his breath, "d—n him!''
But the Baron was not with the ladies, nor, search the house as they might, was there a trace to be seen of that accomplished nobleman.
"He has gone!'' said Sir Richard.
"What the deuce is the meaning of it?'' exclaimed Trelawney.
Colonel Savage smiled grimly and suggested, "Perhaps he wants to give the impostor an innings.''
"Dr Escott, I think, can tell you,'' replied the baronet.
"Gentlemen,'' said the doctor, "the man whom you have met as the Baron von Blitzenberg is none other than a most cunning and determined lunatic. He escaped from the asylum where I am at present assistant doctor, after all but murdering me; he has been seen in London since, but how he came to impersonate the unfortunate gentleman whom you locked up this afternoon I cannot say.''
Before they broke up for the night the genuine Baron, released from confinement and soothed by the humblest apologies and a heavy supper, recounted the main events in Mr Beveridge alias Bunker's brief career in town. On his exploits in St Egbert's he felt some delicacy in touching, but at the end of what was after all only a
3.7. CHAPTER VII.
The party at Brierley Park had gone at last to bed. The Baron was installed in his late usurper's room, and from the clock-tower the hour of three had just been tolled. Sympathy and Sir Richard's cellar had greatly mollified the Baron's wrath; he had almost begun to see the humorous side of his late experience; as a rival Mr Bunker was extinct, and with an easy mind and a placid smile he had fallen asleep some two hours past.
The fire burned low, and for long nothing but the occasional sigh of the wind in the trees disturbed the silence. At length, had the Baron been awake, he might have heard the stealthiest of footsteps in the corridor outside. Then they stopped; his door was gently opened, and first a head and then a whole man slipped in.
Still the Baron slept, dreaming peacefully of his late companion. They were driving somewhere in a hansom, Mr Bunker was telling one of his most amusing stories, when there came a shock, the hansom seemed to turn a somersault, and the Baron awoke. At first he thought he must be dreaming still; the electric light had been turned on and the room was bright as day, but, more bewildering yet, Mr Bunker was seated on his bed, gazing at him with an expression of thoughtful amusement.
"Well, Baron,'' he said, "I trust you are comfortable in these excellent quarters.''
The Baron, half awake and wholly astonished, was unable to collect his ideas in time to make any reply.
"But remember,'' continued Mr Bunker, "you have a reputation to live up to. I have set the standard high for Bavarian barons.''
The indignant Baron at last recovered his wits.
"If you do not go away at vonce,'' he said, raising himself on his elbows, "I shall raise ze house upon you!''
"Have you forgotten that you are talking to a dangerous lunatic, who probably never stirs without his razor?''
The Baron looked at him and turned a little pale. He made no further movement, but answered stoutly enough, "Vat do you vant?''
"In the first place, I want my brush and comb, a few clothes, and my hand-bag. Events happened rather more quickly this evening than I had anticipated.''
"Take zem.''
"I should also like,'' continued Mr Bunker, unmoved, "to have a little talk with you. I think I owe you some explanation—perhaps an apology or two—and I'm afraid it's my last chance.''
"Zay it zen.''
"Of course I understand that you make no hostile demonstration till I am finished? A hunted man must take precautions, you know.''
"I vill let you go.''
"Thanks, Baron.''
Mr Bunker folded his arms, leaned his back against
The Baron made no reply.
"That I place to my credit, and I think few debts are better worth repaying. On the other hand, I confess I have subsisted for some time entirely on your kindness. I'm afraid that alone counterbalances the debt, and when it comes to my being the means of your taking a bath in mixed company and spending an evening in a locked room, there's no doubt the balance is greatly on your side.''
"I zink so,'' observed the Baron.
"So I'll tell you a true story, a favour with which I haven't indulged any one for some considerable time.''
The Baron coughed, but said nothing.
"My biography for all practical purposes,'' Mr Bunker continued, "begins in that sequestered retreat, Clankwood Asylum. How and with whom I came there I haven't the very faintest recollection. I simply woke up from an extraordinary drowsiness to find myself recovering from a sharp attack of what I may most euphoniously call mental excitement. The original cause of it is very dim in my mind, and has, so far as I remember, nothing to do with the rest of the story. The attack was very short, I believe. I soon came to something more or less like myself; only, Baron, the singular thing is, that it was to all intents and purposes a new self—whether better or worse, my faulty memory does not permit me to say. I'd clean forgotten who I was and all about me. I found
"Ha!'' exclaimed the Baron, growing interested despite himself.
"And the most remarkable thing of all is that up till this day I haven't the very vaguest notion what my real name is.''
"Zo?'' said the Baron. "Bot vy should they change it?''
"There you've laid your finger on the mystery, Baron. Why? Heaven knows: I wish I did!''
The Baron looked at him with undisguised interest.
"Strange!'' he said, thoughtfully.
"Damnably strange. I found myself compelled to live in an asylum and answer to a new name, and really, don't you know, under the circumstances I could give no very valid reason for getting out. I seemed to have blossomed there like one of the asylum plants. I couldn't possibly have been more identified with the place. Besides, I'm free to confess that for some time my reason, taking it all in all, wasn't particularly valid on any point. By George, I had a funny time! Ha, ha, ha!''
His mirth was so infectious that the Baron raised his voice in a hearty "Ha, ha!'' and then stopped abruptly, and said cautiously, "Haf a care, Bonker, zey may hear!''
"However, Baron,'' Mr Bunker continued, "out I was determined to get, and out I came in the manner of which perhaps my friend Escott has already informed you.''
The Baron grinned and nodded.
"I came up to town, and on my very first evening I
"You hombog!'' said the Baron, not without a note of admiration.
"I was, and I gloried in it. Baron, if you ever want to know how ample a thing life can be, become a certified lunatic! You are quite irresponsible for your debts, your crimes, and, not least, your words. It certainly enlarges one's horizon. All this time, I may say, I was racking my brains—which, by the way, have been steadily growing saner in other matters—for some recollections of my previous whereabouts, my career, if I had any, and, above all, of my name.''
"Can you remember nozing?''
"I can remember a large country house which I think belonged to me, but in what part of the country it stands I haven't the slightest recollection. I can't remember any family, and as no one has inquired for me, I don't suppose I had any. Many incidents—sporting, festive, amusing, and discreditable—I remember distinctly, and many faces, but there's nothing to piece them together with. Can you recall one or two incidents in town, when people spoke to me or bowed to me?''
"Yes, vell; I vondered zen.''
"I suppose they knew me. In a general sort of way I knew them. But when a man doesn't know his own name, and will probably be replaced in an asylum if he's identified, there isn't much encouragement for greeting old friends. And do you remember my search for a name in the hotel at St Egbert's?''
"Yah—zat is, yes.''
"It was for my own I was looking.''
"You found it not?''
"No. The worst of it is, I can't even remember what letter it began with. Sometimes I think it was M, or perhaps N, and sometimes I'm almost sure it was E. It will come to me some day, no doubt, Baron, but till it does I shall have to wander about a nameless man, looking for it. And after all, I am not without the consolations of a certain useful, workaday kind of philosophy.''
He rose from the bed and smiled humorously at his friend.
"And now, Baron,'' he said, "it only remains to offer you such thanks and apologies as a lunatic may, and then clear out before the cock crows. These are my brushes, I think.''
There was still something on the Baron's mind: he lay for a moment watching Mr Bunker collect a few odds and ends and put them rapidly into a small bag, and then blurted out suddenly, "Ze Lady Alicia—do you loff her?''
"By Jove!'' exclaimed Mr Bunker, "I'd forgotten all about her. I ought to have told you that I once met her
"You do not loff her?'' persisted the Baron.
"I, my dear chap? No. You are most welcome to her—and the countess.''
"Does she not loff you?''
"On my honour, no. I told her a few early reminiscences; she happened to discover they were not what is generally known as true, and took so absurd a view of the case that I doubt whether she would speak to me again if she met me. In fact, Baron, if I read the omens aright—and I've had some experience—you only need courage and a voice.''
The bed creaked, there was a volcanic upheaval of the clothes as the Baron sprang out on to the floor, and the next instant Mr Bunker was clasped in his embrace.
"Ach, my own Bonker, forgif me! I haf suspected, I haf not been ze true friend; you have sairved me right to gom here as ze Baron. I vas too bad a Baron to gom! You have amused me, you have instrogted, you have varmed my heart. My dear frient!''
To tell the truth, Mr Bunker looked, for the first time in their acquaintance, a little ill at ease. He laughed, but it sounded affected.
"My dear fellow-hang it! You'd make me out a martyr. As a matter of fact, I've been such a thorn as very few people would stand in their flesh. There's nothing to forgive, my dear Baron, and a lot to thank you for.''
"I haf been rude, Bonker; I haf insulted you! You forgif me?''
"With all my heart, it you think it's needed, but—''
"And you vill not go now? You vill stay here?''
"What, two Barons at once? My dear chap, we'd merely confuse the butler.''
"Ach, you vill joke, you hombog! But you most stay!''
"And what about my friend, Dr Escott? No, Baron, it would only mean breakfast and the next train to Clankwood.''
"Zey vill not take you ven you tell zem! I shall insist viz Sir Richard!''
"The law is the law, Baron, and I'm a certified lunatic. Here we must part till the weather clears; and mind, you mustn't say a word about my coming to see you.''
The Baron looked at him disconsolately.
"You most really go, Bonker?''
"Really, Baron.''
"And vere to?''
"To London town again by the milk train.''
"And vat vill you do zere?''
"Look for my name.''
"Bot how?''
Mr Bunker hesitated.
"I have a little clue,'' he said at last, "only a thread, but I'll try it for what it's worth.''
"Haf you money enoff?''
"Thanks to your generosity and my skill at billiards, yes, which reminds me that I must return poor Tre
"Cigars at least, Bonker! You most smoke, my frient vizout a name!''
The Baron, night-shirted and barefooted as he was, dived into his portmanteau and produced a large box of cigars.
"You like zese, Bonker. Zey are your own choice. Smoke zem and zink of me!''
"A few, Baron, would be a pleasant reminiscence,'' said his friend, with a smile, "if you really insist.''
"All, Bonker,—I vill not keep vun! I can get more. No, you most take zem all!''
Mr Bunker opened his bag and put in the box without a word.
"You most write,'' said the Baron, "tell me vere you are. I shall not tell any soul, bot ven I can, I shall gom up, and ve shall sup togezzer vunce more. Pairhaps ve may haf anozzer adventure, ha, ha!''
The Baron's laugh was almost too hearty to be true.
"I shall let you know, as soon as I find a room. It won't be in the Mayonaise this time! Good-bye: good sport and luck in love!''
"Good-bye, my frient, good-bye,'' said the Baron, squeezing his hand.
His friend was half out of the door when he turned, and said with an intonation quite foreign either to Beveridge or Bunker, and yet which came very pleasantly, "I forgot to warn you of one thing when I advised you
He shut the door noiselessly and was gone.
The Baron stood in the middle of the floor for fully five minutes, looking blankly at the closed door; then with a sigh he turned out the light and tumbled into bed again.
| The Lunatic At Large | |