  The party at Brierley Park had gone at last to bed. The Baron was installed in his late usurper’s room, and from the clock-tower the hour of three had just been tolled. Sympathy and Sir Richard’s cellar had greatly mollified the Baron’s wrath; he had almost begun to see the humorous side of his late experience; as a rival Mr Bunker was extinct, and with an easy mind and a placid smile he had fallen asleep some two hours past. The fire burned low, and for long nothing but the occasional sigh of the wind in the trees disturbed the silence. At length, had the Baron been awake, he might have heard the stealthiest of footsteps in the corridor outside. Then they stopped; his door was gently opened, and first a head and then a whole man slipped in. Still the Baron slept, dreaming peacefully of his late companion. They were driving somewhere in a hansom, Mr Bunker was telling one of his most amusing stories, when there came a shock, the hansom seemed to turn a somersault, and the Baron awoke. At first he thought he must be dreaming still; the electric light had been turned on and the room was bright as day, but, more bewildering yet, Mr Bunker was seated on his bed, gazing at him with an expression of thoughtful amusement. [pg 170]“Well, Baron,” he said, “I trust you are comfortable in these excellent quarters.” The Baron, half awake and wholly astonished, was unable to collect his ideas in time to make any reply. “But remember,” continued Mr Bunker, “you have a reputation to live up to. I have set the standard high for Bavarian barons.” The indignant Baron at last recovered his wits. “If you do not go away at vonce,” he said, raising himself on his elbows, “I shall raise ze house upon you!” “Have you forgotten that you are talking to a dangerous lunatic, who probably never stirs without his razor?” The Baron looked at him and turned a little pale. He made no further movement, but answered stoutly enough, “Vat do you vant?” “In the first place, I want my brush and comb, a few clothes, and my hand-bag. Events happened rather more quickly this evening than I had anticipated.” “Take zem.” “I should also like,” continued Mr Bunker, unmoved, “to have a little talk with you. I think I owe you some explanation—perhaps an apology or two—and I’m afraid it’s my last chance.” “Zay it zen.” “Of course I understand that you make no hostile demonstration till I am finished? A hunted man must take precautions, you know.” “I vill let you go.” “Thanks, Baron.” Mr Bunker folded his arms, leaned his back against [pg 171] The Baron made no reply. “That I place to my credit, and I think few debts are better worth repaying. On the other hand, I confess I have subsisted for some time entirely on your kindness. I’m afraid that alone counterbalances the debt, and when it comes to my being the means of your taking a bath in mixed company and spending an evening in a locked room, there’s no doubt the balance is greatly on your side.” “I zink so,” observed the Baron. “So I’ll tell you a true story, a favour with which I haven’t indulged any one for some considerable time.” The Baron coughed, but said nothing. “My biography for all practical purposes,” Mr Bunker continued, “begins in that sequestered retreat, Clankwood Asylum. How and with whom I came there I haven’t the very faintest recollection. I simply woke up from an extraordinary drowsiness to find myself recovering from a sharp attack of what I may most euphoniously call mental excitement. The original cause of it is very dim in my mind, and has, so far as I remember, nothing to do with the rest of the story. The attack was very short, I believe. I soon came to something more or less like myself; only, Baron, the singular thing is, that it was to all intents and purposes a new self—whether better or worse, my faulty memory does not permit me to say. I’d clean forgotten who I was and all about me. I found [pg 172] “Ha!” exclaimed the Baron, growing interested despite himself. “And the most remarkable thing of all is that up till this day I haven’t the very vaguest notion what my real name is.” “Zo?” said the Baron. “Bot vy should they change it?” “There you’ve laid your finger on the mystery, Baron. Why? Heaven knows: I wish I did!” The Baron looked at him with undisguised interest. “Strange!” he said, thoughtfully. “Damnably strange. I found myself compelled to live in an asylum and answer to a new name, and really, don’t you know, under the circumstances I could give no very valid reason for getting out. I seemed to have blossomed there like one of the asylum plants. I couldn’t possibly have been more identified with the place. Besides, I’m free to confess that for some time my reason, taking it all in all, wasn’t particularly valid on any point. By George, I had a funny time! Ha, ha, ha!” His mirth was so infectious that the Baron raised his voice in a hearty “Ha, ha!” and then stopped abruptly, and said cautiously, “Haf a care, Bonker, zey may hear!” “However, Baron,” Mr Bunker continued, “out I was determined to get, and out I came in the manner of which perhaps my friend Escott has already informed you.” The Baron grinned and nodded. “I came up to town, and on my very first evening I [pg 173] “You hombog!” said the Baron, not without a note of admiration. “I was, and I gloried in it. Baron, if you ever want to know how ample a thing life can be, become a certified lunatic! You are quite irresponsible for your debts, your crimes, and, not least, your words. It certainly enlarges one’s horizon. All this time, I may say, I was racking my brains—which, by the way, have been steadily growing saner in other matters—for some recollections of my previous whereabouts, my career, if I had any, and, above all, of my name.” “Can you remember nozing?” “I can remember a large country house which I think belonged to me, but in what part of the country it stands I haven’t the slightest recollection. I can’t remember any family, and as no one has inquired for me, I don’t suppose I had any. Many incidents—sporting, festive, amusing, and discreditable—I remember distinctly, and many faces, but there’s nothing to piece them together with. Can you recall one or two incidents in town, when people spoke to me or bowed to me?” [pg 174]“Yes, vell; I vondered zen.” “I suppose they knew me. In a general sort of way I knew them. But when a man doesn’t know his own name, and will probably be replaced in an asylum if he’s identified, there isn’t much encouragement for greeting old friends. And do you remember my search for a name in the hotel at St Egbert’s?” “Yah—zat is, yes.” “It was for my own I was looking.” “You found it not?” “No. The worst of it is, I can’t even remember what letter it began with. Sometimes I think it was M, or perhaps N, and sometimes I’m almost sure it was E. It will come to me some day, no doubt, Baron, but till it does I shall have to wander about a nameless man, looking for it. And after all, I am not without the consolations of a certain useful, workaday kind of philosophy.” He rose from the bed and smiled humorously at his friend. “And now, Baron,” he said, “it only remains to offer you such thanks and apologies as a lunatic may, and then clear out before the cock crows. These are my brushes, I think.” There was still something on the Baron’s mind: he lay for a moment watching Mr Bunker collect a few odds and ends and put them rapidly into a small bag, and then blurted out suddenly, “Ze Lady Alicia—do you loff her?” “By Jove!” exclaimed Mr Bunker, “I’d forgotten all about her. I ought to have told you that I once met her [pg 175] “You do not loff her?” persisted the Baron. “I, my dear chap? No. You are most welcome to her—and the countess.” “Does she not loff you?” “On my honour, no. I told her a few early reminiscences; she happened to discover they were not what is generally known as true, and took so absurd a view of the case that I doubt whether she would speak to me again if she met me. In fact, Baron, if I read the omens aright—and I’ve had some experience—you only need courage and a voice.” The bed creaked, there was a volcanic upheaval of the clothes as the Baron sprang out on to the floor, and the next instant Mr Bunker was clasped in his embrace. “Ach, my own Bonker, forgif me! I haf suspected, I haf not been ze true friend; you have sairved me right to gom here as ze Baron. I vas too bad a Baron to gom! You have amused me, you have instrogted, you have varmed my heart. My dear frient!” To tell the truth, Mr Bunker looked, for the first time in their acquaintance, a little ill at ease. He laughed, but it sounded affected. “My dear fellow—hang it! You’d make me out a martyr. As a matter of fact, I’ve been such a thorn as very few people would stand in their flesh. There’s nothing to forgive, my dear Baron, and a lot to thank you for.” [pg 176]“I haf been rude, Bonker; I haf insulted you! You forgif me?” “With all my heart, if you think it’s needed, but——” “And you vill not go now? You vill stay here?” “What, two Barons at once? My dear chap, we’d merely confuse the butler.” “Ach, you vill joke, you hombog! But you most stay!” “And what about my friend, Dr Escott? No, Baron, it would only mean breakfast and the next train to Clankwood.” “Zey vill not take you ven you tell zem! I shall insist viz Sir Richard!” “The law is the law, Baron, and I’m a certified lunatic. Here we must part till the weather clears; and mind, you mustn’t say a word about my coming to see you.” The Baron looked at him disconsolately. “You most really go, Bonker?” “Really, Baron.” “And vere to?” “To London town again by the milk train.” “And vat vill you do zere?” “Look for my name.” “Bot how?” Mr Bunker hesitated. “I have a little clue,” he said at last, “only a thread, but I’ll try it for what it’s worth.” “Haf you money enoff?” “Thanks to your generosity and my skill at billiards, yes, which reminds me that I must return poor Trelawney’s [pg 177] “Cigars at least, Bonker! You most smoke, my frient vizout a name!” The Baron, night-shirted and barefooted as he was, dived into his portmanteau and produced a large box of cigars. “You like zese, Bonker. Zey are your own choice. Smoke zem and zink of me!” “A few, Baron, would be a pleasant reminiscence,” said his friend, with a smile, “if you really insist.” “All, Bonker,—I vill not keep vun! I can get more. No, you most take zem all!” Mr Bunker opened his bag and put in the box without a word. “You most write,” said the Baron, “tell me vere you are. I shall not tell any soul, bot ven I can, I shall gom up, and ve shall sup togezzer vunce more. Pairhaps ve may haf anozzer adventure, ha, ha!” The Baron’s laugh was almost too hearty to be true. “I shall let you know, as soon as I find a room. It won’t be in the Mayonaise this time! Good-bye: good sport and luck in love!” “Good-bye, my frient, good-bye,” said the Baron, squeezing his hand. His friend was half out of the door when he turned, and said with an intonation quite foreign either to Beveridge or Bunker, and yet which came very pleasantly, “I forgot to warn you of one thing when I advised you [pg 178] He shut the door noiselessly and was gone. The Baron stood in the middle of the floor for fully five minutes, looking blankly at the closed door; then with a sigh he turned out the light and tumbled into bed again. |
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