 | The Lunatic At Large |  |
4. PART IV.
4.1. CHAPTER I.
THE Dover express was nearing town: evening had begun to draw in, and from the wayside houses people saw the train roar by like a huge glow-worm; but they could hardly guess that it was hurrying two real actors to the climax of a real comedy.
From the opposite sides of a first-class carriage these two looked cheerfully at one another. The Channel was safely behind them, London was close ahead, and the piston of the engine seemed to thump a triumphal air.
"We've done it, Twiddel, my boy!'' said the one.
"Thank Heaven!'' replied the other.
"And myself,'' added his friend.
"Yes,'' said Twiddel; "you played your part uncommonly well, Welsh.''
"It was the deuce of a fine spree!'' sighed Welsh.
"The deuce,'' assented Twiddel.
"I'm only sorry it's all over,'' Welsh went on, gazing regretfully up at the lamp of the carriage. "I'd give the remains of my character and my chance of a public funeral to be starting again from Paris by the morning train!''
Twiddel laughed.
"With the same head you had that morning?''
"Yes, by George! Even with the same mile of dusty gullet!''
"It's all over now,'' said Twiddel, philosophically, and yet rather nervously—"at least the amusing part of it.''
"All the fun, my boy, all the fun. All the dinners and the drinks, and the touching of hats to the aristocratic travellers, and the girls that sighed, and the bowing and scraping. Do you remember the sporting baronet who knew my uncle? Now, I'm plain Robert Welsh, whose uncles, as far as I am aware, don't know a baronet among 'em.''
He smiled a little sardonically.
"And the baron at Fogelschloss,'' said Twiddel.
"Who insisted on learning my pedigree back to Alfred the Great! Gad, I gave it him, though, and I doubt whether the real Essington could have done as much. I'd rather surprise some of these noblemen if I turned up again in my true character!''
"Thank the Lord, we're not likely to meet them again!'' exclaimed the doctor, devoutly.
"No,'' said Welsh; "here endeth the second lesson.''
His friend, who had been well brought up, looked a trifle uncomfortable at this quotation.
"I say,'' he remarked a few minutes later, "we haven't finished yet. We've got to get the man out again, and hand him back to his friends.''
"Cured,'' said Welsh, with a laugh.
"I wonder how he is?''
"We'll soon see.''
They fell silent again, while the train hurried nearer and nearer London town. Welsh seemed to be musing on some nice point, it might be of conscience, it might also conceivably be of a more practical texture. At last he said, "There's just one thing, old man. What about the fee?''
"I'll get a cheque for it, I suppose,'' his friend replied, with an almost excessive air of mastery over the problem.
"Ha, ha!'' laughed Welsh; "you know what I mean. It's a delicate question and all that, but, hang it, it's got to be answered.''
"What has?''
"The division of the spoil.''
Twiddel looked dignified.
"I'll see you get your share, old man,'' he answered, easily.
"But what share?''
"You suggested £100, I think.''
"Out of £500 when I've done all the deceiving and told all the lies! Come, old man!''
"Well, what do you want?''
"Do you remember a certain crisis when we'd made a slip—''
"You'd made a slip!''
"We had made a slip, and you wanted to chuck the game and bolt? Do you remember also the terms I proposed when I offered to beard the local god almighty in his lair and explain it all away, and how he became our bosom pal and we were saved?''
"Well?''
"£300 to me, $200 to you,'' said Welsh, decisively.
"Rot, old man. I'll share fairly, if you insist. £250 apiece, will that do?''
Welsh said nothing, but his face was no longer the countenance of the jovial adventurer.
"It will have to, I suppose,'' he replied, at length.
It was with this little cloud on the horizon that they saw the lights of London twinkle through the windows, and were carried into the clamour of the platforms.
They both drove first to Twiddel's rooms; and as they looked out once more on the life and lights and traffic of the streets, their faces cleared again.
"We'll have a merry evening!'' cried Welsh.
"A little supper,'' suggested Twiddel; "a music-hall—''
"Et cetera,'' added Welsh, with a laugh.
The doctor had written of their coming, and they found a fire in the back room, and the table laid.
"Ah,'' cried Welsh, "this looks devilish comfortable.''
"A letter for me,'' said Twiddel; "from Billson, I think.''
He read it and threw it to his friend, remarking, "I call this rather cool of him.''
Welsh read—
—I am just off for three weeks' holiday. Sorry for leaving your practice, but I think it can look after itself till you return.
"You have only had two patients, and one fee between them. The second man vanished mysteriously. I shall
"I am looking forward to hearing the true tale of your adventures. Good luck to you.—Yours ever,
"Boned a bill?'' exclaimed Welsh. "What bill, I wonder?''
"Something that came when I was away, I suppose. Hang it, I think Billson might have looked after things better!''
"It sounds queer,'' said Welsh, reflectively; "I wonder what it was?''
"Confound Billson, he might have told me,'' observed the doctor. "But, I say, you know we have something more practical to see to.''
"Getting the man out again?''
"Yes.''
"Well, let's have a little grub first.''
Twiddel rang the bell, and the frowsy little maid entered, carrying a letter on a tray.
"Dinner,'' said he.
"Please, sir,'' began the maid, holding out the tray, "this come for you near a month agow, but Missis she bin and forgot to send it hafter you.''
"Confound her!'' said Twiddel, taking the letter.
He looked at the envelope, and remarked with a little start of nervous excitement, "From Dr Congleton.''
"News of Mr Beveridge,'' laughed Welsh.
The doctor read the first few lines, and then, as if he had got an electric shock, the letter fell from his hand, and an
"Heavens!'' he ejaculated, "it's all up.''
"What's up?'' cried Welsh, snatching at the letter.
"He's run away!''
Welsh looked at him for a moment in some astonishment, and then burst out laughing.
"What a joke!'' he cried; "I don't see anything to make a fuss about. We're jolly well rid of him.''
"The fee! I won't get a penny till I bring him back. And the whole thing will be found out!''
As the full meaning of this predicament burst upon Welsh, his face underwent a change by no means pleasant to watch. For a full minute he swore, and then an ominous silence fell upon the room.
Twiddel was the first to recover himself.
"Let me see the letter,'' he said; "I haven't finished it.''
Welsh read it aloud—
—I regret to inform you that the patient, Francis Beveridge, whom you placed under my care, has escaped from Clankwood. We have made every inquiry consistent with strict privacy, but unfortunately have not yet been able to lay our hands upon him. We only know that he left Ashditch Junction in the London express, and was seen walking out of St Euston's Cross. How he has been able to maintain himself in concealment without money or clothes, I am unable to imagine.
"As no inquiries have been made for him by his cousin Mr Welsh, or any other of his friends or relatives, I am writing to you that you may inform them, and I hope that this letter may follow you abroad without delay. I may
"Trusting that you are having a pleasant holiday,
The two looked at one another in silence for a minute, and then Welsh said, fiercely, "You must catch him again, Twiddel. Do you think I am going to have all my risk and trouble for nothing?''
"I must catch him! Do you suppose I let him loose?''
"You must catch him, all the same.''
"I shan't bother my head about him,'' answered Twiddel, with the recklessness of despair.
"You won't? You want to have the story known, I suppose?''
"I don't care if it is.''
Welsh looked at him for a minute: then he jumped up and exclaimed, "You need a drink, old man. Let's hurry up that slavey.''
With the first course their countenances cleared a little, with the second they were almost composed, by the end of dinner they had started plot-hatching hopefully again.
"It's any odds on the man's still being in town,'' said Welsh. "He had no money or clothes, and evidently he hasn't gone to any of his friends, or the whole story would have been out. Now, there is nowhere where a man can lie low so well, especially if he is hard up, as London. I can answer from experience. He is hardly likely to be in the West End, or the best class of suburbs, so we've something to go upon at once. We must go to a private in
"And hadn't we better find out whether anything more is known at Clankwood?'' suggested Twiddel. "Dr Congleton wrote a month ago; perhaps they have caught him by this time.''
"Hardly likely, I'm afraid; he'd have written to you if they had. Still, we can but ask.''
"But, I say!'' the doctor suddenly exclaimed, "people may find out that I'm back without him.''
Welsh was equal to the emergency.
"You must leave again at once,'' he said decisively, rising from the table; "and there's no good wasting time, either.''
"What do you mean?'' asked the bewildered doctor, who had not yet assimilated the criminal point of view.
"We'll put our luggage straight on to a cab, drive off to other rooms—I know a cheap place that will do—and if by any chance inquiries are made, people must be told that you are still abroad. Nobody must hear of your coming home to-night.''
"Is it—'' began Twiddel, dubiously.
"Is it what?'' snapped his friend.
"Is it worth it?''
"Is £500, not to speak of two reputations, worth it! Come on!''
The unfortunate doctor sighed, and rose too. He was beginning to think that the nefarious acquisition of fees might have drawbacks after all.
4.2. CHAPTER II.
The chronicle must now go back a few days and follow another up-express.
"I must either be a clergyman or a policeman,'' Mr Bunker reflected, in the corner of his carriage; "they seem to me to be on the whole the two least molested professions. Each certainly has a livery which, if its occupier is ordinarily judicious, ought to serve as a certificate of sanity. To me all policemen are precisely alike, but I daresay they know them apart in the force, and as all the beats and crossings are presumably taken already, I might excite suspicion by my mere superfluity. Besides, a theatrical costumier's uniform would possibly lack some ridiculous but essential detail.''
He lit another cigar and looked humorously out of the window.
"I shall take orders. An amateur theatrical clergyman's costume will be more comfortable, and probably less erroneous. They allow them some latitude, I believe; and I don't suppose there are any visible ordination scars whose absence would give me away. I shall certainly study the first reverend brother I meet to see.''
Thus wisely ruminating, he arrived in London at a very early hour on a chilly morning, and drove straight to a small hotel near King's Cross, where the landlord was much gratified at receiving so respectable a guest as the
It is true the reverend gentleman was in evening clothes, while his hat and coat had a singularly secular, not to say fashionable, appearance; but, as he mentioned casually in the course of some extremely affable remarks, he had been dining in a country house, and had not thought it worth while changing before he left. After breakfasting he dressed himself in an equally secular suit of tweeds and went out, he mentioned incidentally, to call at his tailor's for his professional habit, which he seemed surprised to learn had not yet been forwarded to the hotel.
A visit to a certain well-known firm of theatrical costumiers was followed by his reappearance in a cab accompanied by a bulky brown paper parcel; and presently he emerged from his room attired more consistently with his office, much to his own satisfaction, for, as he observed, "I cannot say I approve of clergymen masquerading as laymen.''
His opinion on the converse circumstance was not expressed.
Much to his landlord's disappointment, he informed him that he should probably leave again that afternoon, and then he went out for a walk.
About half an hour later he was once more in the street where, not so very long ago, a very exciting cab-race had finished. He strolled slowly past Dr Twiddel's house. The blinds of the front room were down; at that hour there was no sign of life about it, and he saw nothing at all to arrest his attention. Then he looked down the
He rang the bell, and in a moment a rotund and loquacious landlady appeared. Yes, the drawing-room was to let; would the reverend gentleman come up and see it? Mr Bunker went up, and approved. They readily agreed upon terms, and the landlady, charmed with her new lodger's appearance and manners, no less than with the respectability of his profession, proceeded to descant at some length on the quiet, comfort, and numerous other advantages of the apartments.
"Just the very plice you wants, sir. We 'ave 'ad clerical gentlemen 'ere before, sir; in fact, there's one a-staying 'ere now, second floor,—you may know of 'im, sir,—the Reverend Mr John Duggs; a very pleasant gentleman you'll find him, sir. I'll tell 'im you're 'ere, sir; 'e'd be sure to like to meet another gentleman of the syme cloth, has they say.''
Somehow or other the Rev. Mr Butler failed to display the hearty pleasure at this announcement that the worthy Mrs Gabbon had naturally expected.
Aloud he merely said, "Indeed,'' politely, but with no unusual interest.
Within himself he reflected, "The deuce take Mr John Duggs! However, I want the rooms, and a man must risk something.''
As a precautionary measure he visited a second-hand bookseller on his way back, and purchased a small assortment of the severest-looking works on theology they kept
He looked carefully out of his sitting-room window, but the doctor's blinds were still down, and he saw no one coming or going about the house; so he began his inquiries by calling up his landlady.
"I have been troubled with lumbago, Mrs Gabbon,'' he began.
"Dearie me, sir,'' said Mrs Gabbon, "I'm sorry to 'ear that; you that looks so 'ealthy too! Well, one never knows what's be'ind a 'appy hexterior, does one, sir?''
"No, Mrs Gabbon,'' replied Mr Bunker, solemnly; "one never knows what even a clergyman's coat conceals.''
"That's very true, sir. In the midst of life we are in—''
"Lumbago,'' interposed Mr Bunker.
Mrs Gabbon looked a trifle startled.
"Well,'' he continued with the same gravity, "I may unfortunately have occasion to consult a doctor—''
"There's Dr Smith,'' interrupted Mrs Gabbon, her equanimity quite restored by his ecclesiastical tone and the mention of ailments; " 'e attended my poor dear 'usband hall through his last illness; an huncommon clever doctor, sir, as I ought to know, sir, bein'—''
"No doubt an excellent man, Mrs Gabbon; but I should like to know of one as near at hand as possible. Now I see the name of a Dr Twiddel—''
"I wouldn't recommend 'im, sir,'' said Mrs Gabbon, pursing her mouth.
Indeed? Why not?''
"'E attended Mrs Brown's servant-girl, sir,—she bein' the lady as has the 'ouse next door,—and what he give 'er didn't do no good. Mrs Brown tell me 'erself.''
"Still, in an emergency—''
"Besides which, he ain't at 'ome, sir.''
"Where has he gone?''
"Abroad, they do say, sir; though I don't rightly know much about 'im.''
"Has he been away long?''
Mrs Gabbon considered.
"It must 'ave bin before the middle of November he went, sir.''
"Ha!'' exclaimed Mr Bunker, keenly, though apparently more to himself than his landlady.
"I beg your pardon, sir?''
"The middle of November, you say? That's a long holiday for a doctor to take.''
"'E 'avn't no practice to speak of,—not as I knows of, leastways.''
"What sort of a man is he—young or old?''
"By my opinion, sir, 'e's too young. I don't 'old by them young doctors. Now Dr Smith, sir—''
"Dr Twiddel is quite a young man, then?''
"What I'd call little better than a boy, sir. They tell me they lets 'em loose very young nowadays.''
"About twenty-five, say?''
"'E might be that, sir; but I don't know much about 'im, sir. Now Dr Smith, sir, 'e's different.''
In fact at this point Mrs Gabbon showed such a tendency
"Before the middle of November,'' he said to himself. "It is certainly a curious coincidence.''
To a gentleman of Mr Bunker's sociable habits and active mind, the prospect of sitting day by day in the company of his theological treatises and talkative landlady, and watching an apparently uninhabited house, seemed at first sight even less entertaining than a return to Clankwood. But, as he said of himself, he possessed a kind of easy workaday philosophy, and, besides that, an apparently irresistible attraction for the incidents of life.
He had barely finished his cup of tea, and was sitting over the fire smoking one of the Baron's cigars and looking through one of the few books he had brought that bore no relation to divinity, his feet high upon the side of the mantelpiece, his ready-made costume perhaps a little more unbuttoned than the strictest propriety might approve, and a stiff glass of whisky-and-water at his elbow, when there came a rap at his door.
In response to his "Come in,'' a middle-aged gentleman, dressed in clerical attire, entered. He had a broad, bearded face, a dull eye, and an indescribably average aspect.
"The devil! Mr John Duggs himself,'' thought Mr Bunker, hastily adopting a more conventional attitude and feeling for his button-holes.
"Ah—er—Mr Butler, I believe?'' said the stranger, with an apologetic air.
"The same,'' replied Mr Bunker, smiling affably.
"I,'' continued his visitor, advancing with more confidence, "am Mr Duggs. I am dwelling at present in the apartment immediately above you, and hearing of the arrival of a fellow-clergyman, through my worthy friend Mrs Gabbon, I have taken the liberty of calling. She gave me to understand that you were not undesirous of making my acquaintance, Mr Butler.''
"The deuce, she did!'' thought Mr Butler. Aloud he answered most politely, "I am honoured, Mr Duggs. Won't you sit down?''
First casting a wary eye upon a chair, Mr Duggs seated himself carefully on the edge of it.
"It is quite evident,'' thought Mr Bunker, "that he has spotted something wrong. I believe a bobby would have been safer after all.''
He assumed the longest face he could draw, and remarked sententiously, "The weather has been unpleasantly cold of late, Mr Duggs.''
He flattered himself that his guest seemed instantly more at his ease. Certainly he replied with as much cordiality as a man with such a dull eye could be supposed to display.
"It has, Mr Butler; in fact I have suffered from a chill for some weeks. Ahem!''
"Have something to drink,'' suggested Mr Bunker, sympathetically. "I'm trying a little whisky myself, as a cure for cold.''
"I—ah—I am sorry. I do not touch spirits.''
"I, on the contrary, am glad to hear it. Too few of our clergymen nowadays support the cause of temperance by example.''
Mr Bunker felt a little natural pride in this happily expressed sentiment, but his visitor merely turned his cold eye on the whisky bottle, and breathed heavily.
"Confound him!'' he thought; "I'll give him something to snort at if he is going to conduct himself like this.''
"Have a cigar?'' he asked aloud.
Mr Duggs seemed to regard the cigar-box a little less unkindly than the whisky bottle; but after a careful look at it he replied, "I am afraid they seem a little too strong for me. I am a light smoker, Mr Butler.''
"Really,'' smiled Mr Bunker; "so many virtues in one room reminds me of the virgins of Gomorrah.''
"I beg your pardon? The what?'' asked Mr Duggs, with a startled stare.
Mr Bunker suspected that he had made a slip in his biblical reminiscences, but he continued to smile imperturbably, and inquired with a perfect air of surprise, "Haven't you read the novel I referred to?''
Mr Duggs appeared a little relieved, but he answered blankly enough, "I—ah—have not. What is the book you refer to?''
"Oh, don't you know? To tell the truth, I forget the title. It's by a somewhat well-known lady writer of religious fiction. A Miss—her name escapes me at this moment.''
In fact, as Mr Bunker had no idea how long his friend
"I am no great admirer of religious fiction of any kind,'' replied Mr Duggs, "particularly that written by emotional females.''
"No,'' said Mr Bunker, pleasantly; "I should imagine your own doctrines were not apt to err on the sentimental side.''
"I am not aware that I have said anything to you about my—doctrines, as you call them, Mr Butler.''
"Still, don't you think one can generally tell a man's creed from his coat, and his sympathies from the way he cocks his hat?''
"I think,'' replied Mr Duggs, "that our ideas of our vocation are somewhat different.''
"Mine is, I admit,'' said Mr Bunker, who had come to the conclusion that the strain of playing his part was really too great, and was now being happily carried along by his tongue.
Mr Duggs for a moment was evidently disposed to give battle, but thinking better of it, he contented himself with frowning at his younger opponent, and abruptly changed the subject.
"May I ask what position you hold in the church, Mr Butler?''
"Why,'' began Mr Bunker, lightly: it was on the tip of his tongue to say "a clergyman, of course,'' when he suddenly recollected that he might be anything from the rank of curate up to the people who wear gaiters (and who these
"I regret to say I have not hitherto had the opportunity.''
"Thank the Lord for that,'' thought Mr Bunker. "I have been a missionary,'' he said quietly, and looked dreamily into the fire.
It was a happy move. Mr Duggs was visibly impressed.
"Ah?'' he said. "Indeed? I am much interested to learn this, Mr Butler. It—ah—gives me perhaps a somewhat different view of your—ah—opinions. Where did your work lie?''
"China,'' replied Mr Bunker, thinking it best to keep as far abroad as possible.
"Ha!'' exclaimed Mr Duggs. "This is really extremely fortunate. I am at present, Mr Butler, studying the religions and customs of China at the British Museum, with a view to going out there myself very shortly. I already feel I know almost as much about that most interesting country as if I had lived there. I should like to talk with you at some length on the subject.''
Mr Bunker saw that it was time to put an end to this conversation, at whatever minor risk of perturbing his visitor. He had been a little alarmed, too, by noticing that Mr Duggs' dull eye had wandered frequently to his theological library, which with his usual foresight he had strewn conspicuously on the table, and that any expression it had was rather of suspicious curiosity than gratification.
"I should like to hear some of your experiences,'' Mr Duggs continued. "In what province did you work?''
"In Hung Hang Ho,'' replied Mr Bunker. His visitor looked puzzled, but he continued boldly, "My experiences were somewhat unpleasant. I became engaged to a mandarin's daughter—a charming girl. I was suspected, however, of abetting an illicit traffic in Chinese lanterns. My companions were manicured alive, and I only made my escape in a pagoda, or a junk—I was in too much of a hurry to notice which—at the imminent peril of my life. Don't go to China, Mr Duggs.''
Mr Duggs rose.
"Young man,'' he said, sternly, "put away that fatal bottle. I can only suppose that it is under the influence of drink that you have ventured to tell me such an irreverent and impossible story.''
"Sir,'' began Mr Bunker, warmly,—for he thought that an outburst of indignation would probably be the safest way of concluding the interview,—when he stopped abruptly and listened. All the time his ears had been alive to anything going on outside, and now he heard a cab rattle up and stop close by. It might be at Dr Twiddel's he thought, and, turning from his visitor, he sprang to the window.
Remarking distantly, "I hear a cab; it is possibly a friend I am expecting,'' Mr Duggs stepped to the other window.
It was only, however, a hansom at the door of the next house, out of which a very golden-haired young lady was stepping.
"Aha,'' said Mr Bunker, quite forgetting the indignant rôle he had begun to play; "rather nice! Is this your friend, Mr Duggs?''
Mr Duggs gave him one look of his dull eyes, and walked straight for the door. As he went out he merely remarked, "Our acquaintance has been brief, Mr Butler, but it has been quite sufficient.''
"Quite,'' thought Mr Bunker.
4.3. CHAPTER III.
That was Mr Bunker's first and last meeting with the Rev. John Duggs, and he took no small credit to himself for having so effectually incensed his neighbour, without, at the same time, bringing suspicion on anything more pertinent than his sobriety.
And yet sometimes in the course of the next three days he would have been thankful to see him again, if only to have another passage-of-arms. The time passed most wearily; the consulting-room blinds were never raised; no cabs stopped before the doctor's door; nobody except the little servant ever moved about the house.
He could think of no plan better than waiting; and so he waited, showing himself seldom in the streets, and even sitting behind the curtain while he watched at the window. After writing at some length to the Baron he had no further correspondence that he could distract himself with; he was even forced once or twice to dip into the
The only active step he took, and indeed the only step he saw his way to take, was a call on Dr Twiddel's locum. But luck seemed to run dead against him. Dr Billson had departed "on his holiday,'' he was informed, and would not return for three weeks. So Mr Bunker was driven back to his window and the Baron's cigars.
It was the evening of his fourth day in Mrs Gabbon's rooms. He had finished a modest dinner and was dealing himself hands at piquet with an old pack of cards, when he heard the rattle of a cab coming up the street. The usual faint flicker of hope rose: the cab stopped below him, the flicker burned brighter, and in an instant he was at the window. He opened the slats of the blind, and the flicker was aflame. Before the doctor's house a four-wheeled cab was standing laden with luggage, and two men were going up the steps. He watched the luggage being taken in and the cab drive away, and then he turned radiantly back to the fire.
"The curtain is up,'' he said to himself. "What's the first act to be?''
Presently he put on his wideawake hat and went out for a stroll. He walked slowly past the doctor's house, but there was nothing to be seen or heard. Remembering the room at the back, he was not surprised to find no chink of light about the front windows, and thinking it better not to run the risk of being seen lingering there, he walked on.
Two men jumped in, one after another, and when he had come at his fastest walk within twenty yards or so, the cabman whipped up and drove rapidly away, luggage and men and all.
He looked up and down for a hansom, but there were none to be seen. For a few yards he set off at a run in pursuit, and then, finding that the horse was being driven at a great rate, and remembering the paucity of stray cabs in the quiet streets and roads round about, he stopped and considered the question.
"After all,'' he reflected, "it may not have been Dr Twiddel who drove away; in fact, if it was he who arrived in the first cab, it's any odds against it. Pooh! It can't be. Still, it's a curious thing if two cabs loaded with luggage came to the house in the same evening, and one drove away without unlading.''
With his spirits a little damped in spite of his philosophy, he went back to his rooms.
In the morning the consulting-room blinds were still down, and the house looked as deserted as ever.
He waited till lunch, and then he went out boldly and pulled the doctor's bell. The same little maid appeared, but she evidently did not recognise the fashionable patient
"Is Dr Twiddel at home?''
"No, sir, he ain't back yet.''
"He hasn't been back?''
"No, sir.''
Mr Bunker looked at her keenly, and then said to himself, "She is lying.''
He thought he would try a chance shot.
"But he was expected home last night, I believe.''
The maid looked a little staggered.
"He ain't been,'' she replied.
"I happen to have heard that he called here,'' he hazarded again.
This time she was evidently put about.
"He ain't been here—as I knows of.''
He slipped half-a-crown into her hand.
"Think again,'' he said, in his most winning accents.
The poor little maid was obviously in a dilemma.
"Do you want him particular, sir?''
"Particularly.''
She fidgeted a little.
"He told me,'' he pursued, "that he might look in at his rooms last night. He left no message for me?''
"What nime, sir?''
"Mr Butler.''
"No, sir.''
"Then, my dear,'' said Mr Bunker, with his most insinuating smile, "he was here for a little, you can't deny?''
At the maid's embarrassed glance down his long coat, he suddenly realised that there was perhaps a distinction between lay and clerical smiles.
"He might have just looked in, sir,'' she admitted.
"But he didn't want it known?''
"No, sir.''
"Quite right, I advised him not to, and you did very well not to tell me at first.''
He smiled approvingly and made a pretence of turning away.
"Oh, by the way,'' he added, stopping as if struck by an after-thought, "Is he still in town? He promised to leave word for me, but he has evidently forgotten.''
"I don't know, sir; 'e didn't say.''
"What? He left no word at all?''
"No, sir.''
Mr Bunker held out another half-crown.
"It's truth, sir,'' said the maid, drawing back; "we don't know where 'e is.''
"Take it, all the same; you have been very discreet. You have no idea?''
The maid hesitated.
"I did 'ear Mr Welsh say something about lookin' for rooms,'' she allowed.
"In London?''
"I expect so, sir; but 'e didn't say no more.''
"Mr Welsh is the friend who came with him, of course?''
"Yes, sir.''
"Thanks,'' said Mr Bunker. "By the way, Dr Twiddel might not like your telling this even to a friend, so you
He smiled benignly, and the little maid thanked him quite gratefully.
"Evidently,'' he thought as he went away, "I was meant for something in the detective line.''
He returned to his rooms to meditate, and the longer he thought the more puzzled he became, and yet the more convinced that he had taken up a thread that must lead him somewhere.
"As for my plan of action,'' he considered, "I see nothing better for it than staying where I am—and watching. This mysterious doctor must surely steal back some night. Now and then I might go round the town and try a cast in the likeliest bars—oh, hang me, though! I forgot I was a clergyman.''
That night he had a welcome distraction in the shape of a letter from the Baron. It was written from Brierley Park, in the Baron's best pointed German hand, and it ran thus—
—I was greatly more delighted than I am able to express to you from the amusing correspondence you addressed me. How glad I am, I can assure you, that you are still in safety and comfort. Remember, my dear friend, to call for me when need arises, although I do think you can guard yourself as well as most alone.
"This leaves me happy and healthful, and in utmost prosperity with the kind Sir Richard and his charming Lady. You English certainly know well how to cause time to pass with mirth. About instruction I say less!
"They have talked of you here. I laugh and keep my tongue when they wonder who he is and whither gone away. Now that anger is passed and they see I myself enjoy the joke, they say, and especially do the ladies, (You humbug, Bunker!) `How charming was the imitation, Baron!' You can indeed win the hearts, if wishful so. The Lady Grillyer and her unexpressable daughter I have often seen. To-day they come here for two nights. I did suggest it to Lady Brierley, and I fear she did suspect the condition of my heart; but she charmingly smiled, she asked them, and they come!
"The Countess, I fear, does not now love you much, my friend; but then she knows not the truth. The Lady Alicia is strangely silent on the matter of Mr Bunker, but in time she also doubtless will forgive.'' (At this Mr Bunker smiled in some amusement.)
"When they leave Brierley I also shall take my departure on the following day, that is in three days. Therefore write hastily, Bunker, and name the place and hour where we shall meet again and dine festively. I expect a most reverent clergyman and much instructive discourse. Ah, humbug!—Thine always,
"Dear old Baron!'' said Mr Bunker. "Well, I've at least a dinner to look forward to.''
4.4. CHAPTER IV.
Dr Twiddel, meanwhile, was no less anxious to make the Rev. Alexander Butler's acquaintance than the Rev. Alexander Butler was to make his. Not that he was aware of that gentleman's recent change of identity and occupation; but most industrious endeavors to find a certain Mr Beveridge were made in the course of the next few days. He and Welsh were living modestly and obscurely in the neighbourhood of the Pentonville Road, scouring the town by day, studying a map and laying the most ingenious plans at night. Welsh's first effort, as soon as they were established in their new quarters, was to induce his friend to go down to Clankwood and make further inquiries, but this Twiddel absolutely declined to do.
"My dear chap,'' he answered, "supposing anything were found out, or even suspected, what am I to say? Old Congleton knows me well, and for his own sake doesn't want to make a fuss; but if he really spots that something is wrong, he will be so afraid of his reputation that he'd give me away like a shot.''
"How are you going to give things away by going down and seeing him?''
"If they have guessed anything, I'll give it away. I haven't your cheek, you know, and tact, and that sort of thing; you'd much better go yourself.''
"I? It isn't my business.''
"You seem to be making it yours. Besides, Dr Congleton thinks it is. You passed yourself off as the chap's cousin, and it is quite natural for you to go and inquire.''
Welsh pondered the point. "Hang it,'' he said at last, "it would do just as well to write. Perhaps it's safer after all.''
"Well, you write.''
"Why should I, rather than you?''
"Because you're his cousin.''
Welsh considered again. "Well, I don't suppose it matters much. I'll write, if you're afraid.''
It was these amiable little touches in his friend's conversation that helped to make Twiddel's lot at this time so pleasant. In fact, the doctor was learning a good deal about human nature in cloudy weather.
With great care Welsh composed a polite note of anxious inquiry, and by return of post received the following reply:—
I regret to inform you that we have not so far recovered your cousin Mr Beveridge. In all probability, however, this cannot be long delayed now, as he was seen within the last week at a country house in Dampshire, and is known to have fled to London immediately on his recognition, but before he could be secured. He was then clean shaved, and had been passing under the name of Francis Bunker. We are making strict inquiries for him in London.
"Nobody can regret the unfortunate circumstance of his escape more than I, and, in justice to myself and my institution, I can assure you that it was only through the most unforeseen and remarkable ingenuity on your cousin's part that it occurred.
"Trusting that I may soon be able to inform you of his recovery, I am, yours very truly,
Their ardour was, if possible, increased by Dr Congleton's letter. Mr Beveridge was almost certainly in London, and they knew now that they must look for a clean-shaved man. Two private inquiry detectives were at work; and on their own account they had mapped the likeliest parts of London into beats, visiting every bar and restaurant in turn, and occasionally hanging about stations and the stopping-places for 'buses.
It was dreadfully hard work, and after four days of it, even Welsh began to get a little sickened.
"Hang it,'' he said in the evening, "I haven't had a decent dinner since we came back. Mr Bunker can go to the devil for to-night, I'm going to dine decently. I'm sick of going round pubs, and not even stopping to have a drink.''
"So am I,'' replied Twiddel, cordially; "where shall we go?''
"The Café Maccarroni,'' suggested Welsh; "we can't afford a West-end place, and they give one a very decent dinner there.''
The Café Maccarroni in Holborn is nominally of foreign extraction,—certainly the waiters and the stout proprietor come from sunnier lands,—and many of the diners you can hear talking in strange tongues, with quick gesticulations. But for the most part they are respectable citizens of London, who drink Chianti because it stimulates cheaply and not unpleasantly. The white-painted
The hour at which the two friends entered was later than most of the habitués dine, and they had the room almost to themselves. They faced each other across a small table beside the wall, and very soon the discomforts of their researches began to seem more tolerable.
"We'll catch him soon, old man,'' said Welsh, smiling more affably than he had smiled since they came back. "A day or two more of this kind of work and even London won't be able to conceal him any longer.''
"Dash it, we must,'' replied Twiddel, bravely. "We'll show old Congleton how to look for a lunatic.''
"Ha, ha!'' laughed Welsh, "I think he'll be rather relieved himself. Waiter! another bottle of the same.''
The bottle arrived, and the waiter was just filling their glasses when a young clergyman entered the room and walked quietly towards the farther end. Welsh raised his glass and exclaimed, "Here's luck to ourselves, Twiddel, old man!''
At that moment the clergyman was passing their table, and at the mention of this toast he started almost imperceptibly, and then, throwing a quick glance at the two, stopped and took a seat at the next table, with his back turned towards them. Welsh, who was at the farther side, looked at him with some annoyance, and made a sign to Twiddel to talk a little more quietly.
To the waiter, who came with the menu, the clergyman explained in a quiet voice that he was waiting for a friend, and asked for an evening paper instead, in which he soon appeared to be deeply engrossed.
At first the conversation went on in a lower tone, but in a few minutes they insensibly forgot their neighbour, and the voices rose again by starts.
"My dear fellow,'' Welsh was saying, "we can discuss that afterwards; we haven't caught him yet.''
"I want to settle it now.''
"But I thought it was settled.''
"No, it wasn't,'' said Twiddel, with a foreign and vinous doggedness.
"What do you suggest then?''
"Divide it equally—£250 each.''
"You think you can claim half the credit for the idea and half the trouble?''
"I can claim all the risk—practically.''
"Pooh!'' said Welsh. "You think I risked nothing? Come, come, let's talk of something else.''
"Oh, rot!'' interrupted Twiddel, who by this time was decidedly flushed. "You needn't ride the high horse like that, you are not Mr Mandell-Essington any longer.''
With a violent start, the clergyman brought his fist crash on the table, and exclaimed aloud, "By Heaven, that's it!''
4.5. CHAPTER V.
As one may suppose, everybody in the room started in great astonishment at this extraordinary outburst. With a sharp "Hollo!'' Twiddel turned in his seat, to see the clergyman standing over him with a look of the keenest inquiry in his well-favoured face.
"May I ask, Dr Twiddel, what you know of the gentleman you just named?'' he said, with perfect politeness.
The conscience-smitten doctor gazed at him blankly, and the colour suddenly left his face. But Welsh's nerves were stronger; and, as he looked hard at the stranger, a jubilant light leaped to his eyes.
"It's our man!'' he cried, before his friend could gather his wits. "It's Beveridge, or Bunker, or whatever he calls himself! Waiter!''
Instantly three waiters, all agog, hurried at his summons.
Mr Bunker regarded him with considerable surprise. He had quite expected that the pair would be thrown into confusion, but not that it would take this form.
"Excuse me, sir,'' he began, but Welsh interrupted him by crying to the leading waiter—
"Fetch a four-wheeled cab and a policeman, quick!'' As the man hesitated, he added, "This man here is an escaped lunatic.''
The waiter was starting for the door, when Mr Bunker stepped out quickly and interrupted him.
"Stop one minute, waiter,'' he said, with a quiet, unruffled
The stout proprietor was already on his way to their table, and the one or two other diners were beginning to gather round. Mr Bunker's manner had impressed even Welsh, and after his nature he took refuge in bluster.
"I say, my man,'' he cried, "this won't pass. Somebody fetch a cab.''
"Vat is dees about?'' asked the proprietor, coming up.
"Your wine, I'm afraid, has been rather too powerful for this gentleman,'' Mr Bunker explained, with a smile.
"Look here,'' blustered Welsh, "do you know you've got a lunatic in the room?''
"You can perhaps guess it,'' smiled Mr Bunker, indicating Welsh with his eyes.
The waiters began to twitter, and Welsh, with an effort, pulled himself together.
"My friend here,'' he said, "is Dr Twiddel, a well-known practitioner in London. He can tell you that he certified this man as a lunatic, and that he afterwards escaped from his asylum. That is so, Twiddel?''
"Yes,'' assented Twiddel, whose colour was beginning to come back a little.
"Who are you, sare?'' asked the proprietor.
"Show him your card, Twiddel,'' said Welsh, producing his own and handing it over.
The proprietor looked at both cards, and then turned to Mr Bunker.
"And who are you, sare?''
"My name is Mandell-Essington.''
"His name—'' began Welsh.
"Have you a card?'' interposed the proprietor.
"I am sorry I have not,'' replied Mr Bunker (to still call him by the name of his choice).
"His name is Francis Beveridge,'' said Welsh.
"I beg your pardon; it is Mandell-Essington.''
"Any other description?'' Welsh asked, with a sneer.
"A gentleman, I believe.''
"No other occupation?''
"Not unless you can call a justice of the peace such,'' replied Mr Bunker, with a smile.
"And yet he disguises himself as a clergyman!'' exclaimed Welsh, triumphantly, turning to the proprietor.
Mr Bunker saw that he was caught, but he merely laughed, and observed, "My friend here disguises himself in liquor, a much less respectable cloak.''
Unfortunately the humour of this remark was somewhat thrown away on his present audience; indeed, coming from a professed clergyman, it produced an unfavourable impression.
"You are not a clergyman?'' said the proprietor, suspiciously.
"I am glad to say I am not,'' replied Mr Bunker, frankly.
"Den vat do you do in dis dress?''
"I put it on as a compliment to the cloth; I retain it at present for decency,'' said Mr Bunker, whose tongue had now got a fair start of him.
"Mad,'' remarked Welsh, confidentially, shrugging his shoulders with really excellent dramatic effect.
By this time the audience were disposed to agree with him.
"You can give no better account of yourself dan dis?'' asked the proprietor.
"I am anxious to,'' replied Mr Bunker, "but a public restaurant is not the place in which I choose to give it.''
"Fetch the cab and the policeman,'' said Welsh to a waiter.
At this moment another gentleman entered the room, and at the sight of him Mr Bunker's face brightened, and he stopped the waiter by a cry of, "Wait one moment; here comes a gentleman who knows me.''
Everybody turned, and beheld a burly, very fashionably dressed young man, with a fair moustache and a cheerful countenance.
"Ach, Bonker!'' he cried.
This confirmation of Mr Bunker's aliases ought, one would expect, to have delighted the two conspirators, but, instead, it produced the most remarkable effect. Twiddel utterly collapsed, while even Welsh's impudence at last deserted him. Neither said a word as the Baron von Blitzenberg greeted his friend with affectionate heartiness.
"My friend, zis is good for ze heart! Bot, how? vat makes it here?''
"My dear Baron, the most unfortunate mistake has occurred. Two men here—'' But at this moment he stopped in great surprise, for the Baron was staring hard first at Welsh and then at Twiddel.
"Ah!'' he exclaimed, "Mr Mandell-Essington, I zink?''
Welsh hesitated for an instant, and his hesitation was evident to all. Then he replied, "No, you are mistaken.''
"Surely I cannot be; you did stay in Fogelschloss?'' said the Baron. "Is not zis Dr Twiddel?''
"No—er—ah—yes,'' stammered Twiddel, looking feebly at Welsh.
The Baron looked from the one to the other in great perplexity, when Mr Bunker, who had been much puzzled by this conversation, broke in, "Did you call that person Mandell-Essington?''
"I cairtainly zought it vas.''
"Where did you meet him?''
"In Bavaria, at my own castle.''
"You are mistaken, sir,'' said Welsh.
"One moment, Mr Welsh,'' said Mr Bunker. "How long ago was this, Baron?''
"Jost before I gom to London. He travelled viz zis ozzer gentleman, Dr Twiddel.''
"You are wrong, sir,'' persisted Welsh.
"For his health,'' added the Baron.
A light began to dawn on Mr Bunker.
"His health?'' he cried, and then smiled politely at Welsh.
"We will talk this over, Mr Welsh.''
"I am sorry I happen to be going,'' said Welsh, taking his hat and coat.
"What, without your lunatic?'' asked Mr Bunker.
"That is Dr Twiddel's affair, not mine. Kindly let me pass, sir.''
"No, Mr Welsh; if you go now, it will be in the company
Muttering something under his breath, Welsh hung up his coat and hat, sat down, and then assuming an air of great impudence, remarked, "Fire away, Mr Mandell-Essington—Beveridge—Bunker, or whatever you call yourself.''
Without paying the slightest attention to this piece of humour, Mr Bunker turned to the bewildered proprietor, and, to the intense disappointment of the audience, said, "You can leave us now, thank you; our talk is likely to be of a somewhat private nature.'' As their gallery withdrew, he drew up a chair for the Baron, and all four sat round the small table.
"Now,'' said Mr Bunker to Welsh, "you will perhaps be kind enough to give me a precise account of your doings since the middle of November.''
"I'm d—d if I do,'' replied Welsh.
"Sare,'' interposed the Baron in his stateliest manner, "I know not now who you may be, but I see you are no gentleman. Ven you are viz gentlemen—and noblemen— you vill please to speak respectfully.''
The stare that Welsh attempted in reply was somewhat ineffective.
"Perhaps, Dr Twiddel, you can give the account I want?'' said Mr Bunker.
The poor doctor looked at his friend, hesitated, and finally stammered out, "I—I don't see why.''
Mr Bunker pulled a paper out of his pocket and showed it to him.
"Perhaps this may suggest a why.''
When the doctor saw the bill for Mr Beveridge's linen, the last of his courage ebbed away. He glanced helplessly at Welsh, but his ally was now leaning back in his chair with such an irritating assumption of indifference, and the prospective fee had so obviously vanished, that he was suddenly seized with the most virtuous resolutions.
"What do you want to know, sir?'' he asked.
"In the first place, how did you come to have anything to do with me?''
Welsh, whose sharp wits instantly divined the weak point in the attack, cut in quickly, "Don't tell him if he doesn't know already!''
But Twiddel's relapse to virtue was complete. "I was asked to take charge of you while—'' He hesitated.
"While I was unwell,'' smiled Mr Bunker. "Yes?''
"I was to travel with you.''
"Ah!''
"But I—I didn't like the idea, you see; and so—in fact—Welsh suggested that I should take him instead.''
"While you locked me up in Clankwood?''
"Yes.''
"Ha, ha, ha!'' laughed Mr Bunker, "I must say it was a devilish humorous idea.''
At this Twiddel began to take heart again.
"I am very sorry, sir, for—'' he began, when the Baron interrupted excitedly.
"Zen vat is your name, Bonker?''
"I am Mr Mandell-Essington, Baron.''
The Baron looked at the other two in turn with wide-open eyes.
Then he turned indignantly upon Welsh.
"You were impostor zen, sare? You gom to my house and call yourself a gentleman, and impose upon me, and tell of your family and your estates. You, a low—er—er— vat you say?—a low cad! Bonker, I cannot sit at ze same table viz zese persons!''
He rose as he spoke.
"One moment, Baron! Before we send these gentlemen back to their really promising career of fraud, I want to ask one or two more questions.'' He turned to Twiddel. "What were you to be paid for this?''
"£500.''
Mr Bunker opened his eyes. "That's the way my money goes? From your anxiety to recapture me, I presume you have not yet been paid?''
"No, I assure you, Mr Essington,'' said Twiddel, eagerly; "I give you my word.''
"I shall judge by the circumstances rather than your word, sir. It is perhaps unnecessary to inform you that you have had your trouble for nothing.'' He looked at them both as though they were curious animals, and then continued: "You, Mr Welsh, are a really wonderfully typical rascal. I am glad to have met you. You can now put on your coat and go.'' As Welsh still sat
With the best air he could muster, Welsh silently cocked his hat on the side of his head, threw his coat over his arm, and was walking out, when a watchful waiter intercepted him.
"Your bill, sare.''
"My friend is paying.''
"No, Mr Welsh,'' cried the real Essington; "I think you had better pay for this dinner yourself.''
Welsh saw the vigilant proprietor already coming towards him, and with a look that augured ill for Twiddel when they were alone, he put his hand in his pocket.
"Ha, ha!'' laughed Essington, "the inevitable bill!''
"And now,'' he continued, turning to Twiddel, "you, doctor, seem to me a most unfortunately constructed biped; your nose is just long enough to enable you to be led into a singularly original adventure, and your brains just too few to carry it through creditably. Hang me if I wouldn't have made a better job of the business! But before you disappear from the company of gentlemen I must ask you to do one favour for me. First thing to-morrow morning you will go down to Clankwood, tell what lie you please, and obtain my legal discharge, or whatever it's called. After that you may go to the devil— or, what comes much to the same thing, to Mr Welsh—for all I care. You will do this without fail?''
"Ye—es,'' stammered Twiddel, "certainly, sir.''
"You may now retire—and the faster the better.''
As the crestfallen doctor followed his ally out of the restaurant, the Baron exclaimed in disgust, "Ze cads! You are too merciful. You should punish.''
"My dear Baron, after all I am obliged to these rascals for the most amusing time I have ever had in my life, and one of the best friends I've ever made.''
"Ach, Bonker! Bot vat do I say? You are not Bonker no more, and yet may I call you so, jost for ze sake of pleasant times? It vill be too hard to change.''
"I'd rather you would, Baron. It will be a perpetual in memoriam record of my departed virtues.''
"Departed, Bonker?''
"Departed, Baron,'' his friend repeated with a sigh; "for how can I ever hope to have so spacious a field for them again? Believe me, they will wither in an atmosphere of orthodoxy. And now let us order dinner.''
"But first,'' said the Baron, blushing, "I haf a piece of news.''
"Baron, I guess it!''
"Ze Lady Alicia is now mine! Congratulate!''
"With all my heart, Baron! What could be a fitter finish than the detection of villainy, the marriage of all the sane people, and the apotheosis of the lunatic?''
| The Lunatic At Large | |