Then, turning to the landlord, who stood by in sore perplexity, aimlessly rubbing his hands, he continued:

"It's a beastly shame that a gentleman can't take a lady's elephant out for--exercise without running up against all this nonsense in the first little hamlet he comes across! One would almost think you had never seen an elephant before."

The landlord, whose eyes had up to this time been fairly bulging with curiosity, now declared himself desolated at such an uncalled-for suspicion.

"Perhaps it would be better if the gentleman were to send for a constable."

Mine host neglected to add that he had done so on his own responsibility in his first burst of agitation.

But Scarsdale, noting the excellent effect which his rating had produced on the landlord, determined that he should have some more of it.

"If you are afraid," he said, "of damaging your ramshackle old inn, perhaps you'll consent to give my elephant his dinner in the square?"

Mine host rolled up his eyes at this new phase of the question.

"I suppose," continued Scarsdale, "that the dignity of this 'tuppenny ha'penny' town won't be seriously impaired by his presence for an hour in your elegant plaza!"

The last portion of this speech was lost on the landlord, because he did not know what a "plaza" was; but it sounded imposing, and he hastened to a.s.sure his guest that the town would feel honoured by the elephant's presence, though he would have to procure a permit from the mayor.

Should he show him the way to that functionary's house?

This, however, proved to be unnecessary, as the mayor himself was present in the crowd, a pompous, fussy little man, full of the importance of his office. Lady Melton's name, which he had heard mentioned in connection with the affair, acted as a charm, and brought him bustling forward to shake Scarsdale's hand, a.s.sure him that no permit was required, and snub the innkeeper.

"Anything I can do for a relation of her ladyship's--I think you said a relation?" he inquired.

Scarsdale had not said anything of the kind, but unwillingly admitted that he was her nephew. Upon receiving this intelligence the mayor positively beamed, called Scarsdale "your lordship," and became most solicitous after Lady Melton's health. Her nephew gravely a.s.sured him that he might make his mind easy on that score, as his aunt was in the best of health, and that as soon as he returned to Melton Court (a most uncertain date, he thought grimly) he would be sure to convey to her his kind inquiries.

His worship on this was positively effusive, declared himself devoted to Scarsdale's interests, and insisted that he and "her ladyship,"

indicating Mrs. Allingford--another slip which his companion did not trouble to correct--must do him the honour of dining with Mrs. Mayor and himself.

Scarsdale was now beginning to fear that he was doing it rather too well, and hastened to excuse "her ladyship" and himself, declaring that they could not think of trespa.s.sing on his worship's hospitality, and that they would be quite comfortable at the inn, if only the elephant might be permitted to have his dinner in the square.

The mayor declared that it was just what he most desired; but would his lordship kindly indicate of what that meal must consist?

This was a poser; but Scarsdale plunged recklessly on, for, having once entered the broad road of deception, there was no turning back, and he was surprised himself at the facility with which he could romance.

"That is just the trouble of taking charge of other people's pets," he said, with shameless indifference to the demands of truth. "I'm sure I don't know much more about the brute than you do; and as his mahout was away when we started out, I had to take one of the grooms. What _does_ Jehoshaphat eat, Tom?"

"Hay, sir--me lud, I mean," answered Tom, falling in with the humour of the situation.

"Oh! hay, of course," said Scarsdale.

"How much, your lordship?" queried the mayor.

"How much? Confound it! how should I know? Do you take me for an elephant trainer?" A remark which nearly reduced his worship to chaos; but Scarsdale, relenting, added:

"Say five or six tons--I don't know."

"But it is not easy, my lord, to procure such an amount at short notice," expostulated the official.

"Oh, then, get him a waggon-load or two as a first course, and we'll find something else a little later."

"It shall be procured at once. I--er--trust your lordship will not take it amiss, since you will not dine with me, if I offer you a gla.s.s of--shall we say champagne?"

"With pleasure," said Scarsdale.

"And her ladyship?" looking towards the carriage.

Mrs. Allingford bowed, and the mayor whispered a few words in mine host's ear.

Just at that moment, as Scarsdale was drawing his first easy breath, feeling at last that things were going smoothly, the very worst _contretemps_ that could possibly happen occurred. Two dusty figures shambled around the corner of a neighbouring street into the square, and one of them in a high-pitched voice, that was distinctly heard by every member of the crowd, exclaimed:

"Hi, there! What are you doing with my elephant?"

Scarsdale swung round to face the newcomers, a premonition of coming evil strong upon him, though a careful inspection a.s.sured him that he knew them not; yet conviction hang in every note of that challenge.

They were, in a word, the owner of elephants and the unregenerate d.i.c.k.

From early dawn they had made their way across country, in as straight a line as possible from Winchester to Salisbury, sometimes on foot and sometimes in such conveyances as they could hire from place to place; but ever buoyed up by hope--hope of finding that which was lost; hope of restoring elephants to their rightful owners; hope of clearing a brother's name. And here, unexpectedly, they had come upon the object of their search in the hands of total strangers.

"Who the devil are you?" cried Scarsdale hotly, scenting danger, and determined to face the worst at once. "I don't know you."

"I'm Richard Allingford," said the larger of the two men, pushing forward till he faced the bewildered Englishman.

At this point Scarsdale, whose coolness alone could have saved the situation, lost his head. His temper, which had been severely tried by the vicissitudes of the day, gave way in the presence of the man whose escapades had caused him such needless suffering and indignity, and, regardless of results, he spoke his mind.

"So you're Richard Allingford, are you? Then allow me to tell you that you are the prettiest scoundrel that I've run across in a long time!

Curse you! Do you know I've spent two days, this week, in Winchester jail on your account?"

A broad grin broke over Richard's face.

"I guess you must be Scarsdale," he said. "But what in thunder are you doing with my brother's elephant?"

"It's mine!" arose the shrill voice of his companion. "I tell you he stole it from me!"

This was too much for Mrs. Allingford, and, to make a bad matter worse, she cried from the carriage:

"The Consul did not steal the elephant! It is his property, and I'm his wife!"

A voice from the crowd chimed in:

"But 'e said it was 'er ladyship's helephant!"

The mayor's face was a study in its various shades of suspicion--anger at being, as he very naturally supposed, duped; and certainty of the duplicity of all concerned, as the contradictory conversation continued. And there is no knowing how quickly he might have precipitated the final catastrophe, if the elephant had not chosen this opportunity for creating a diversion on his own account, which, for the time being, distracted every one's thoughts. He had had, it will be remembered, a very light breakfast, which only served to whet the edge of his appet.i.te. It therefore took him but a short time to locate the whereabouts of a lad who, emerging from the inn with an appetising dinner of bacon and greens arranged in a basket balanced on his head, stood gaping on the outskirts of the crowd, unmindful of the cooling viands. Some playful breeze must have wafted the savoury odour of cabbage to the elephant's nostrils; for suddenly, and without previous warning, flinging his trunk in the air with a joyous trumpet, he pounded down the road, nearly unseating his rider, and scattering the crowd to right and left.

"Wait for me when you get to Christchurch!" Scarsdale called to Tom as the latter shot past him, and then joined in the rush which followed close on the elephant's heels, the mayor and the landlord well to the fore; while Mrs. Allingford's driver, who was only human, increased the confusion by whipping up his horses and joining in the chase.

Ahead of the excited beast and the noisy throng which followed it, holding on like grim death to his dinner-basket, fled the worse-scared boy that had ever been seen in that town. Fortunately the chase was of short duration, for the cubicle of the telegraph-clerk at the railway station was just ahead, and offered a ready refuge. Into it flew the lad, dinner and all, and slammed the door, just in time to escape from the elephant's curling trunk.

The beast, despoiled of his meal, circled the building trumpeting with rage, and finally took up a position across the rails, where he stood guard, prepared to fall upon any one who should venture out.