"In London?"

"I expect so, sir; but 'e didn't say no more."

"Mr Welsh is the friend who came with him, of course?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks," said Mr Bunker. "By the way, Dr Twiddel might not like your telling this even to a friend, so you needn't say I called, I'll tell him myself when I see him, and I won't give you away."

He smiled benignly, and the little maid thanked him quite gratefully.

"Evidently," he thought as he went away, "I was meant for something in the detective line."

He returned to his rooms to meditate, and the longer he thought the more puzzled he became, and yet the more convinced that he had taken up a thread that must lead him somewhere.

"As for my plan of action," he considered, "I see nothing better for it than staying where I am-and watching. This mysterious doctor must surely steal back some night. Now and then I might go round the town and try a cast in the likeliest bars-oh, hang me, though! I forgot I was a clergyman."

That night he had a welcome distraction in the shape of a letter from the Baron. It was written from Brierley Park, in the Baron's best pointed German hand, and it ran thus-

"MY DEAR BUNKER,-I was greatly more delighted than I am able to express to you from the amusing correspondence you addressed me. How glad I am, I can a.s.sure you, that you are still in safety and comfort. Remember, my dear friend, to call for me when need arises, although I do think you can guard yourself as well as most alone.

"This leaves me happy and healthful, and in utmost prosperity with the kind Sir Richard and his charming Lady. You English certainly know well how to cause time to pa.s.s with mirth. About instruction I say less!

"They have talked of you here. I laugh and keep my tongue when they wonder who he is and whither gone away. Now that anger is pa.s.sed and they see I myself enjoy the joke, they say, and especially do the ladies, (You humbug, Bunker!) 'How charming was the imitation, Baron!' You can indeed win the hearts, if wishful so. The Lady Grillyer and her unexpressable daughter I have often seen. To-day they come here for two nights. I did suggest it to Lady Brierley, and I fear she did suspect the condition of my heart; but she charmingly smiled, she asked them, and they come!

"The Countess, I fear, does not now love you much, my friend; but then she knows not the truth. The Lady Alicia is strangely silent on the matter of Mr Bunker, but in time she also doubtless will forgive. (At this Mr Bunker smiled in some amus.e.m.e.nt.)

"When they leave Brierley I also shall take my departure on the following day, that is in three days. Therefore write hastily, Bunker, and name the place and hour where we shall meet again and dine festively. I expect a most reverent clergyman and much instructive discourse. Ah, humbug!-Thine always,

RUDOLPH VON BLITZENBERG."

"_P.S._-She is sometimes more kind and sometimes so distant. Ah, I know not what to surmise! But to-morrow or the next my fate will be decided.

Give me of your prayers, my reverent friend!

R. VON B."

"Dear old Baron!" said Mr Bunker. "Well, I've at least a dinner to look forward to."

CHAPTER IV.

Dr Twiddel, meanwhile, was no less anxious to make the Rev. Alexander Butler's acquaintance than the Rev. Alexander Butler was to make his. Not that he was aware of that gentleman's recent change of ident.i.ty and occupation; but most industrious endeavors to find a certain Mr Beveridge were made in the course of the next few days. He and Welsh were living modestly and obscurely in the neighbourhood of the Pentonville Road, scouring the town by day, studying a map and laying the most ingenious plans at night. Welsh's first effort, as soon as they were established in their new quarters, was to induce his friend to go down to Clankwood and make further inquiries, but this Twiddel absolutely declined to do.

"My dear chap," he answered, "supposing anything were found out, or even suspected, what am I to say? Old Congleton knows me well, and for his own sake doesn't want to make a fuss; but if he really spots that something is wrong, he will be so afraid of his reputation that he'd give me away like a shot."

"How are you going to give things away by going down and seeing him?"

"_If_ they have guessed anything, I'll give it away. I haven't your cheek, you know, and tact, and that sort of thing; you'd much better go yourself."

"_I?_ It isn't my business."

"You seem to be making it yours. Besides, Dr Congleton thinks it is. You pa.s.sed yourself off as the chap's cousin, and it is quite natural for you to go and inquire."

Welsh pondered the point. "Hang it," he said at last, "it would do just as well to write. Perhaps it's safer after all."

"Well, you write."

"Why should I, rather than you?"

"Because you're his cousin."

Welsh considered again. "Well, I don't suppose it matters much. I'll write, if you're afraid."

It was these amiable little touches in his friend's conversation that helped to make Twiddel's lot at this time so pleasant. In fact, the doctor was learning a good deal about human nature in cloudy weather.

With great care Welsh composed a polite note of anxious inquiry, and by return of post received the following reply:-

"MY DEAR SIR,-I regret to inform you that we have not so far recovered your cousin Mr Beveridge. In all probability, however, this cannot be long delayed now, as he was seen within the last week at a country house in Dampshire, and is known to have fled to London immediately on his recognition, but before he could be secured. He was then clean shaved, and had been pa.s.sing under the name of Francis Bunker. We are making strict inquiries for him in London.

"n.o.body can regret the unfortunate circ.u.mstance of his escape more than I, and, in justice to myself and my inst.i.tution, I can a.s.sure you that it was only through the most unforeseen and remarkable ingenuity on your cousin's part that it occurred.

"Trusting that I may soon be able to inform you of his recovery, I am, yours very truly,

"ADOLPHUS S. CONGLETON.

Their ardour was, if possible, increased by Dr Congleton's letter. Mr Beveridge was almost certainly in London, and they knew now that they must look for a clean-shaved man. Two private inquiry detectives were at work; and on their own account they had mapped the likeliest parts of London into beats, visiting every bar and restaurant in turn, and occasionally hanging about stations and the stopping-places for 'buses.

It was dreadfully hard work, and after four days of it, even Welsh began to get a little sickened.

"Hang it," he said in the evening, "I haven't had a decent dinner since we came back. Mr Bunker can go to the devil for to-night, I'm going to dine decently. I'm sick of going round pubs, and not even stopping to have a drink."

"So am I," replied Twiddel, cordially; "where shall we go?"

"The Cafe Maccarroni," suggested Welsh; "we can't afford a West-end place, and they give one a very decent dinner there."

The Cafe Maccarroni in Holborn is nominally of foreign extraction,-certainly the waiters and the stout proprietor come from sunnier lands,-and many of the diners you can hear talking in strange tongues, with quick gesticulations. But for the most part they are respectable citizens of London, who drink Chianti because it stimulates cheaply and not unpleasantly. The white-painted room is bright and clean and seldom very crowded, the British palate can be tickled with tolerable joints and cutlets, and the foreign with gravy-covered odds and ends.

Altogether, it may be recommended to such as desire to dine comfortably and not too conspicuously.

The hour at which the two friends entered was later than most of the _habitues_ dine, and they had the room almost to themselves. They faced each other across a small table beside the wall, and very soon the discomforts of their researches began to seem more tolerable.

"We'll catch him soon, old man," said Welsh, smiling more affably than he had smiled since they came back. "A day or two more of this kind of work and even London won't be able to conceal him any longer."

"Dash it, we must," replied Twiddel, bravely. "We'll show old Congleton how to look for a lunatic."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Welsh, "I think he'll be rather relieved himself.