CHAPTER V.

A few days pa.s.sed in the most entertaining manner. A menu of amus.e.m.e.nts was regularly prepared suitable to a catholic taste, and at every turn the Baron was struck by the enterprise and originality of his friend. He had, however, a national bent for serious inquiry, and now and then doubts crossed his mind whether, with all his moral drawing, he was acquiring quite as much solid information as he had set out to gain. This idea grew upon him, till one morning, after gazing for some time at the English newspaper he always made a point of reading, he suddenly exclaimed, "Bonker, I haf a doubt!"

"I have many," replied Mr Bunker; "in fact, I have few positive ideas left."

"Bot mine is a particulair doubt. Do I lairn enoff?"

"My own conception of enough learning, Baron, is a thing like a threepenny-bit-the smallest coin one can do one's marketing with."

"And yet," said the Baron, solemnly, "for my own share, I am not satisfied. I vould lairn more of ze British inst.i.tutions; so far I haf lairned of ze pleasures only."

"My dear Baron, they are the British inst.i.tutions."

The Baron shook his head and fell to his paper again, while Mr Bunker stretched himself on the sofa and gazed through his cigar-smoke at the ceiling. Suddenly the Baron gave an exclamation of horror.

"My dear Baron, what is the matter?"

"Yet anozer outrage!" cried the Baron. "Zese anarchists, zey are too scandalous. At all ze stations zere are detectives, and all ze ships are being vatched. Ach, it is terrible!"

Mr Bunker seemed struck with an idea, for he stared at the ceiling without making any reply, and his eyes, had the Baron seen them, twinkled curiously.

At last the Baron laid down his paper.

"Vell, vat shall ve do?" he asked.

"Let us come first to Liverpool Street Station, if you don't mind, Baron,"

his friend suggested. "I have something in the cloak-room there I want to pick up."

"My dear Bonker, I shall go vere you vill; bot remember I vant to-day more instrogtion and less entertainment."

"You wish to see the practical side of English life?"

"Yah-zat is, yes."

Mr Bunker smiled.

"Then I must entertain myself."

As they drove down he was in his wittiest humour, and the Baron, in spite of his desire for instruction, was more charmed with his friend than ever.

"Vat fonny zing vill you do next, eh?" he asked, as they walked arm-in-arm into the station.

"I am no more the humourist, my dear Baron,-I shall endeavour to edify you."

They had arrived at a busy hour, when the platforms were crowded with pa.s.sengers and luggage. A train had just come in, and around it the bustle was at its height, and the confusion most bewildering.

"Wait for me here," said Mr Bunker; "I shall be back in a minute."

He started in the direction of the cloak-room, and then, doubling back through the crowd, walked down the platform and stopped opposite a luggage-van. An old gentleman, beside himself with irritation, was struggling with the aid of a porter to collect his luggage, and presently he left the pile he had got together and made a rush in the direction of a large portmanteau that was just being tumbled out. Instantly Mr Bunker picked up a handbag from the heap and walked quickly off with it.

"Here you are, Baron," he said, as he came up to his friend. "I find there is something else I must do, so do you mind holding this bag for a few minutes? If you will walk up and down in front of the refreshment-rooms here, I'll find you more easily. Is it troubling you too much?"

"Not vun bit, Bonker. I am in your sairvice."

He put the bag into the Baron's hand with his pleasantest smile, and turned away. Rounding a corner, he came cautiously back again through the crowd and stepped up to a policeman.

"Keep your eye on that man, officer," he said, in a low confidential voice, and an air of quiet authority, "and put your plain clothes' men on his track. I know him for one of the most dangerous anarchists."

The man started and stared hard at the Baron, and presently that unconscious n.o.bleman, pacing the platform in growing wonder at Mr Bunker's lengthy absence, and looking anxiously round him on all sides, noticed with surprise that a number of quietly dressed men, with no apparent business in the station, were eyeing him with, it seemed to him, an interest that approached suspicion. In time he grew annoyed, he returned their glances with his haughtiest and most indignant look, and finally, stepping up to one of them, asked in no friendly voice, "Vat for do you vatch me?"

The man returned an evasive answer, and pa.s.sing one of his fellow-officers, whispered, "Foreign; I was sure of it."

At last the Baron could stand it no longer, and laying the bag down by the door of the refreshment-room, turned hastily away. On the instant Mr Bunker, who had watched these proceedings from a safe distance, cried in a loud and agonised voice, "Down with your men, sergeant! Down, lie down! It will explode in twenty seconds!"

And as he spoke he threw himself flat on his face. So infectious were his commanding voice and his note of alarm that one after another, detectives, pa.s.sengers, and porters, cast themselves at full length on the platform.

The Baron, filled with terror of anarchist plots, was one of the first to prostrate himself, and at that there could be no further doubt of the imminence of the peril.

The cabs rattled and voices sounded from outside; an engine whistled and shunted at a far platform, but never before at that hour of the day had Liverpool Street Station been so silent. All held their breath and heard their hearts thump as they gazed in horrible fascination at that fatal bag, or with closed eyes stumbled through a hasty prayer. Fully a minute pa.s.sed, and the suspense was growing intolerable, when with a loud oath an old gentleman rose to his feet and walked briskly up to the bag.

"Have a care, sir! For Heaven's sake have a care!" cried Mr Bunker; but the old gentleman merely bent over the terrible object, and, picking it up, exclaimed in bewildered wrath, "It's my bag! Who the devil brought it here, and what's the meaning of this d-d nonsense?"

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" roared Mr Bunker; while like sheepish mushrooms the people sprang up on all sides.

"My dear sir," said Mr Bunker, coming up to the old gentleman, and raising his hat with his most affable air, "permit me to congratulate you on recovering your lost property, and allow me further to introduce my friend the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg."

"Baron von d.a.m.ned-humbug!" cried the old gentleman. "Did you take my bag, sir? and if so, are you a thief or a lunatic?"

For an instant even Mr Bunker himself seemed a trifle taken aback; then he replied politely, "I am not a thief, sir."

"Then what _'ave_ you been doing?" demanded the sergeant.

"Merely demonstrating to my friend the Baron the extraordinary vigilance of the English police."

For a time neither the old gentleman nor the sergeant seemed quite capable of taking the same view of the episode as Mr Bunker, and, curiously enough, the Baron seemed not disinclined to let his friend extricate himself as best he could. No one, however, could resist Mr Bunker, and before very long he and the Baron were driving up Bishopsgate Street together, with the old gentleman's four-wheeler lumbering in front of them.

"Well, Baron, are you satisfied with your morning's instruction?" asked his friend.

"A German n.o.bleman is not used to be in soch a position," replied the Baron, stiffly.

"You must admit, however, that the object-lesson in the detection of anarchy was neatly presented."

"I admit nozing of ze kind," said the Baron, stolidly.

For the rest of the drive he sat obdurately silent. He went to his room with the mien of an offended man. During lunch he only opened his lips to eat.

On his side Mr Bunker maintained a cheerful composure, and seemed not a whit put about by his friend's lack of appreciation.