CHAPTER VI.
The Baron's natural good temper might have forgiven his friend, but allnight he was a prey to something against which no temper is proof. TheBaron was bitterly jealous. All through breakfast he never spoke a word,and when Mr Bunker asked him what train he intended to take, he repliedcurtly, as he went to the door, "Ze 5.30."
"And where do you go now?"
"Vat is zat to you? I go for a valk. I vould be alone."
"Good-bye, then, Baron," said Mr Bunker. "I think I shall go up to town."
"Go, zen," replied the Baron, opening the door; "I haf no furzer vish tosee a treacherous _sponge_ zat vill neizer be true nor fight, bot josttakes money."
He slammed the door and went out. If he had waited for a moment, he wouldhave seen a look in Mr Bunker's face that he had never seen before. Hehalf started from his chair to follow, and then sat down again and thoughtwith his lips very tight set.
All at once they broke into a smile that was grimmer than anything theBaron had known.
"I accept your challenge, Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg," he said tohimself; "but the weapons I shall choose myself."
He took a telegraph form, wrote and despatched a wire, and then withconsiderable haste proceeded to pack. Within an hour he had left thehotel.
* * * * *
When a servant, later in the day, was performing, under the Baron'sdirections, the same office for him, a series of discoveries that stillfurther disturbed his peace of mind were jointly made. Not only the moresporting portions of his wardrobe but his gun and cartridges as well, hadvanished, and, search and storm as he liked, there was not a trace of themto be found.
"Ze rascal!" he muttered; "I did not zink he was zief as well."
It is hardly wonderful that he arrived at Brierley station in anything butan amiable frame of mind. There, to his great annoyance and surprise, hefound no signs of Sir Richard's carriage; there were no stables near, and,after fuming for some time on the platform, he was forced to leave hisluggage with the station-master and proceed on foot to Brierley Park.
He arrived shortly before seven o'clock, after a dark and muddy tramp,and, still swearing under his breath, pulled the bell with indignantenergy.
"I am ze Baron von Blitzenberg, bot zere vas no carriage at ze station,"he informed the butler in his haughtiest tones.
The man looked at him suspiciously.
"The Baron arrived this morning," he said.
"Ze Baron? Vat Baron? I am ze Baron!"
"I shall fetch Sir Richard," said the butler, turning away.
Presently a stout florid gentleman, accompanied by three friends, allevidently very curious and amused about something, came to the door, and,to the poor Baron's amazement and horror, he recognised in one of thesenone other than Mr Bunker, arrayed with much splendour in his own ornateshooting suit.
"What do you want?" asked the florid gentleman, sternly.
"Have I ze pleasure of addressing Sir Richard Brierley?" inquired theBaron, raising his hat and bowing profoundly.
"You have."
"Zen I must tell you zat I am ze Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg."
"Gom, gom, my man!" interposed Mr Bunker. "I know you. Zis man, SirRichard, has before annoyed me. He is vat you call impostor, cracked; hehas vollowed me from Germany. Go avay, man!"
"You are impostor! You scoundrel, Bonker!" shouted the wrathful Baron. "Heis no Baron, Sir Richard! Ha! Vould you again deceive me, Bonker?"
"You must lock him up, I fear," said Mr Bunker. "To-morrow, my man, youvill see ze police."
So completely did the Baron lose his head that he became almostinarticulate with rage: his protestations, however, were not of theslightest avail. That morning Sir Richard had received a wire informinghim that the Baron was coming by an earlier train than he had originallyintended, and, since his arrival, the spurious nobleman had so ingratiatedhimself with his host that Sir Richard was filled with nothing butsympathy for him in his persecution. After a desperate struggle theunfortunate Rudolph was overpowered and conveyed in the undignifiedfashion known as the frog's march to a room in a remote wing, there topass the night under lock and key.
"The scoundrelly German impostor!" exclaimed a young man, a fellow visitorof the Baron Bunker's, to a tall, military-looking gentleman.
Colonel Savage seemed lost in thought.
"It is a curious thing, Trelawney," he replied, at length, "that thefootman who attends the Baron should have told my man--who, of course, toldme--that a number of his things are marked 'Francis Beveridge.' It is alsorather strange that this impostor should have known so little of theBaron's movements as to arrive several hours after him, assuming he hadhatched a plot to impersonate him."
"But the man's obviously mad."
"Must be," said the colonel.
The house party were assembled in the drawing-room waiting for dinner tobe announced. The bogus Baron was engaged in an animated discussion withColonel Savage on the subject of Bavarian shootings, and the colonelhaving omitted to inform him that he had some personal experience ofthese, Mr Bunker was serving up such of his friend's anecdotes as he couldremember with sauce more peculiarly his own.
"Five hondred vild boars," he was saying, "eight hondred brace ofpartridges, many bears, and rabbits so moch zat it took five veeks to buryzem. All zese ve did shoot before breakfast, colonel. Aftair breakfastagain ve did go out----"
But at that moment his attention was sharply arrested by a question ofLady Brierley's.
"Has Dr Escott arrived?" she asked.
The Baron Bunker paused, and in spite of his habitual coolness, theobservant 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 awelcome from his hostess, the dinner procession started.
"Whoever is that tall fair man in front?" Dr Escott asked his partner asthey crossed the hall.
"Oh, that's the Baron von Blitzenberg: such an amusing man! We are all inlove with him already."
All through dinner the spurious Baron saw that Dr Escott's eyes turnedcontinually and curiously on him; yet never for an instant did his spiritsdroop or his conversation flag. Witty and charming as ever, he discoursedin his comical foreign accent to the amusement of all within hearing, andby the time the gentlemen adjourned to the billiard-room, he hadestablished the reputation of being the most delightful German ever seen.Yet Dr Escott grew more suspicious and bewildered, and Mr Bunker felt thathe was being narrowly watched. The skill at billiards of a certain FrancisBeveridge used to be the object of the doctor's unbounded admiration, andit was with the liveliest interest that he watched a game between ColonelSavage and the Baron.
That nobleman knew well the danger of displaying his old dexterity, and tothe onlookers it soon became apparent that this branch of his educationhad been neglected. He not only missed the simplest shots, but seemed veryignorant of the rules of the English game, and in consequence he came infor a little good-natured chaff from Sir Richard and Trelawney. When thecolonel's score stood at 90 and the Baron had scarcely reached 25Trelawney 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 firsttime be pronounced a _w_ correctly.
"Sovereigns," said Trelawney, gaily.
The temptation was irresistible.
"Done!" said the Baron. With a professional disregard for conventions hebolted the white into the middle pocket, leaving his own ball nicelybeside the red. Down in its turn went the red, and Mr Bunker was on thespot. Three followed three in monotonous succession, Trelawney's facegrowing longer and Dr Escott getting more and more excited, till with asmile Mr Bunker laid down his cue, a sensational winner.
His victory was received in silence: Trelawney handed over two five-poundnotes without a word, and the colonel returned to his whisky-and-soda. DrEscott could
contain himself no longer, and whispering something to SirRichard, the two left the room.
Imperturbable as ever, Mr Bunker talked gaily for a few minutes to anunresponsive 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 DrEscott.
"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 theymight, was there a trace to be seen of that accomplished nobleman.
"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 theimpostor 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 vonBlitzenberg is none other than a most cunning and determined lunatic. Heescaped from the asylum where I am at present assistant doctor, after allbut murdering me; he has been seen in London since, but how he came toimpersonate the unfortunate gentleman whom you locked up this afternoon Icannot say."
Before they broke up for the night the genuine Baron, released fromconfinement and soothed by the humblest apologies and a heavy supper,recounted the main events in Mr Beveridge _alias_ Bunker's brief career intown. 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-sidednarrative, even the defrauded Trelawney could not but admit that, whateverthe departed gentleman's failings, his talents at least were worthy of abetter cause.
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