"I vill let you go."

"Thanks, Baron."

Mr Bunker folded his arms, leaned his back against the foot of the bed, and began in his half-bantering way, "I have amused you, Baron, now and then, you must admit?"

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 myself called Francis Beveridge, but that wasn't my old name, I know."

"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.

"d.a.m.nably strange. I found myself compelled to live in an asylum and answer to a new name, and really, don't you know, under the circ.u.mstances 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 had the good fortune to meet the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg-as perhaps you may remember. In my own defence, Baron, I may fairly plead that since I could remember nothing about my past career, I was ent.i.tled to supply the details from my imagination. After all, I have no proof that some of my stories may not have been correct. I used this privilege freely in Clankwood, and, in a word, since I couldn't tell the truth if I wanted to, I quenched the desire."

"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?"

"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 c.o.c.k 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 before, when she showed sympathy-practical sympathy, I may add-for an unfortunate gentleman in Clankwood. That's all."

"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."

"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."