CHAPTER IV.

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?”“Ifthey 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.”[pg 206]“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:—“My dear Sir,—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.[pg 207]“Trusting that I may soon be able to inform you of his recovery, I am, yours very truly,“Adolphus S. Congleton.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[pg 208]room is bright and clean and seldom very crowded, the British palate can be tickled with tolerable joints and cutlets, and the foreign with gravy-covered odds and ends. Altogether, it may be recommended to such as desire to dine comfortably and not too conspicuously.The hour at which the two friends entered was later than most of thehabituésdine, 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.[pg 209]To the waiter, who came with themenu, 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 claimallthe 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!”[pg 210]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[pg 211]air that went far to establish his sanity.“Do I look like a lunatic? Kindly call the proprietor first.”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.”[pg 212]“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.[pg 213]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’saliasesought, 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?”[pg 214]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[pg 215]of that policeman you were so anxious to send for.”There was such an unmistakable threat in Mr Bunker’s voice and eye that Welsh hesitated.“We will talk it over, Mr Welsh,”Mr Bunker repeated distinctly.“Kindly sit down. I have several things to ask you and your friend Dr Twiddel.”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.[pg 216]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.[pg 217]“I am very sorry, sir, for——”he began, when the Baron interrupted excitedly.“Zen vat is your name, Bonker?”“Iam 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 lowcad!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[pg 218]defiantly, he added,“At once, sir! or you may possibly find policemen and four-wheeled cabs outside. I have something else to say to Dr Twiddel.”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.”[pg 219]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 END.

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?”

“Ifthey 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:—

“My dear Sir,—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.[pg 207]“Trusting that I may soon be able to inform you of his recovery, I am, yours very truly,“Adolphus S. Congleton.

“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,

“Adolphus S. Congleton.

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[pg 208]room is bright and clean and seldom very crowded, the British palate can be tickled with tolerable joints and cutlets, and the foreign with gravy-covered odds and ends. Altogether, it may be recommended to such as desire to dine comfortably and not too conspicuously.

The hour at which the two friends entered was later than most of thehabituésdine, 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 themenu, 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 claimallthe 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!”

[pg 210]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[pg 211]air that went far to establish his sanity.“Do I look like a lunatic? Kindly call the proprietor first.”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.”[pg 212]“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.[pg 213]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’saliasesought, 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?”[pg 214]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[pg 215]of that policeman you were so anxious to send for.”There was such an unmistakable threat in Mr Bunker’s voice and eye that Welsh hesitated.“We will talk it over, Mr Welsh,”Mr Bunker repeated distinctly.“Kindly sit down. I have several things to ask you and your friend Dr Twiddel.”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.[pg 216]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.[pg 217]“I am very sorry, sir, for——”he began, when the Baron interrupted excitedly.“Zen vat is your name, Bonker?”“Iam 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 lowcad!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[pg 218]defiantly, he added,“At once, sir! or you may possibly find policemen and four-wheeled cabs outside. I have something else to say to Dr Twiddel.”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.”[pg 219]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 END.

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[pg 211]air that went far to establish his sanity.“Do I look like a lunatic? Kindly call the proprietor first.”

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’saliasesought, 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[pg 215]of that policeman you were so anxious to send for.”There was such an unmistakable threat in Mr Bunker’s voice and eye that Welsh hesitated.“We will talk it over, Mr Welsh,”Mr Bunker repeated distinctly.“Kindly sit down. I have several things to ask you and your friend Dr Twiddel.”

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?”

“Iam 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 lowcad!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[pg 218]defiantly, he added,“At once, sir! or you may possibly find policemen and four-wheeled cabs outside. I have something else to say to Dr Twiddel.”

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 END.

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