Colonel Savage seemed lost in thought.

"It is a curious thing, Trelawney," he replied, at length, "that the footman who attends the Baron should have told my man-who, of course, told me-that a number of his things are marked 'Francis Beveridge.' It is also rather strange that this impostor should have known so little of the Baron's movements as to arrive several hours after him, a.s.suming he had hatched a plot to impersonate him."

"But the man's obviously mad."

"Must be," said the colonel.

The house party were a.s.sembled in the drawing-room waiting for dinner to be announced. The bogus Baron was engaged in an animated discussion with Colonel Savage on the subject of Bavarian shootings, and the colonel having omitted to inform him that he had some personal experience of these, Mr Bunker was serving up such of his friend's anecdotes as he could remember with sauce more peculiarly his own.

"Five hondred vild boars," he was saying, "eight hondred brace of partridges, many bears, and rabbits so moch zat it took five veeks to bury zem. All zese ve did shoot before breakfast, colonel. Aftair breakfast again ve did go out--"

But at that moment his attention was sharply arrested by a question of Lady Brierley's.

"Has Dr Escott arrived?" she asked.

The Baron Bunker paused, and in spite of his habitual coolness, the observant colonel noticed that he started ever so slightly.

"He came half an hour ago," replied Sir Richard. "Ah, here he is."

As he spoke, a well-remembered figure came into the room, and after a welcome from his hostess, the dinner procession started.

"Whoever is that tall fair man in front?" Dr Escott asked his partner as they crossed the hall.

"Oh, that's the Baron von Blitzenberg: such an amusing man! We are all in love with him already."

All through dinner the spurious Baron saw that Dr Escott's eyes turned continually and curiously on him; yet never for an instant did his spirits droop or his conversation flag. Witty and charming as ever, he discoursed in his comical foreign accent to the amus.e.m.e.nt of all within hearing, and by the time the gentlemen adjourned to the billiard-room, he had established the reputation of being the most delightful German ever seen.

Yet Dr Escott grew more suspicious and bewildered, and Mr Bunker felt that he was being narrowly watched. The skill at billiards of a certain Francis Beveridge used to be the object of the doctor's unbounded admiration, and it was with the liveliest interest that he watched a game between Colonel Savage and the Baron.

That n.o.bleman knew well the danger of displaying his old dexterity, and to the onlookers it soon became apparent that this branch of his education had been neglected. He not only missed the simplest shots, but seemed very ignorant of the rules of the English game, and in consequence he came in for a little good-natured chaff from Sir Richard and Trelawney. When the colonel's score stood at 90 and the Baron had scarcely reached 25 Trelawney cried, "I'll bet you ten to one you don't win, Baron!"

"What in?" asked the Baron, and the colonel noticed that for the first time be p.r.o.nounced a _w_ correctly.

"Sovereigns," said Trelawney, gaily.

The temptation was irresistible.

"Done!" said the Baron. With a professional disregard for conventions he bolted the white into the middle pocket, leaving his own ball nicely beside the red. Down in its turn went the red, and Mr Bunker was on the spot. Three followed three in monotonous succession, Trelawney's face growing longer and Dr Escott getting more and more excited, till with a smile Mr Bunker laid down his cue, a sensational winner.

His victory was received in silence: Trelawney handed over two five-pound notes without a word, and the colonel returned to his whisky-and-soda. Dr Escott could contain himself no longer, and whispering something to Sir Richard, the two left the room.

Imperturbable as ever, Mr Bunker talked gaily for a few minutes to an unresponsive audience, and then, remarking that he would join the ladies, left the room.

A minute or two later Sir Richard, with an anxious face, returned with Dr Escott.

"Where is the Baron?" he asked.

"Gone to join the ladies," replied Trelawney, adding under his breath, "d-- n him!"

But the Baron was not with the ladies, nor, search the house as they might, was there a trace to be seen of that accomplished n.o.bleman.

"He has gone!" said Sir Richard.

"What the deuce is the meaning of it?" exclaimed Trelawney.

Colonel Savage smiled grimly and suggested, "Perhaps he wants to give the impostor an innings."

"Dr Escott, I think, can tell you," replied the baronet.

"Gentlemen," said the doctor, "the man whom you have met as the Baron von Blitzenberg is none other than a most cunning and determined lunatic. He escaped from the asylum where I am at present a.s.sistant doctor, after all but murdering me; he has been seen in London since, but how he came to impersonate the unfortunate gentleman whom you locked up this afternoon I cannot say."

Before they broke up for the night the genuine Baron, released from confinement and soothed by the humblest apologies and a heavy supper, recounted the main events in Mr Beveridge _alias_ Bunker's brief career in town. On his exploits in St Egbert's he felt some delicacy in touching, but at the end of what was after all only a fragmentary and one-sided narrative, even the defrauded Trelawney could not but admit that, whatever the departed gentleman's failings, his talents at least were worthy of a better cause.

CHAPTER VII.

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 amus.e.m.e.nt.

"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 antic.i.p.ated."

"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."