The Lunatic at Large

by J. Storer Clouston

  CHAPTER IV.

  Dr Twiddel, meanwhile, was no less anxious to make the Rev. AlexanderButler's acquaintance than the Rev. Alexander Butler was to make his. Notthat he was aware of that gentleman's recent change of identity andoccupation; but most industrious endeavors to find a certain Mr Beveridgewere made in the course of the next few days. He and Welsh were livingmodestly and obscurely in the neighbourhood of the Pentonville Road,scouring the town by day, studying a map and laying the most ingeniousplans at night. Welsh's first effort, as soon as they were established intheir new quarters, was to induce his friend to go down to Clankwood andmake further inquiries, but this Twiddel absolutely declined to do.

  "My dear chap," he answered, "supposing anything were found out, or evensuspected, what am I to say? Old Congleton knows me well, and for his ownsake doesn't want to make a fuss; but if he really spots that something iswrong, he will be so afraid of his reputation that he'd give me away likea 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 goyourself."

  "_I?_ It isn't my business."

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

  Welsh pondered the point. "Hang it," he said at last, "it would do just aswell 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'llwrite, if you're afraid."

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

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

  "MY DEAR SIR,--I regret to inform you that we have not so far recoveredyour cousin Mr Beveridge. In all probability, however, this cannot be longdelayed now, as he was seen within the last week at a country house inDampshire, and is known to have fled to London immediately on hisrecognition, but before he could be secured. He was then clean shaved, andhad been passing under the name of Francis Bunker. We are making strictinquiries for him in London.

  "Nobody can regret the unfortunate circumstance of his escape more than I,and, in justice to myself and my institution, I can assure you that it wasonly through the most unforeseen and remarkable ingenuity on your cousin'spart 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. MrBeveridge was almost certainly in London, and they knew now that they mustlook for a clean-shaved man. Two private inquiry detectives were at work;and on their own account they had mapped the likeliest parts of Londoninto beats, visiting every bar and restaurant in turn, and occasionallyhanging about stations and the stopping-places for 'buses.

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

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

  "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 foreignextraction,--certainly the waiters and the stout proprietor come fromsunnier lands,--and many of the diners you can hear talking in strangetongues, with quick gesticulations. But for the most part they arerespectable citizens of London, who drink Chianti because it stimulatescheaply and not unpleasantly. The white-painted room is bright and cleanand seldom very crowded, the British palate can be tickled with tolerablejoints and cutlets, and the foreign with gravy-covered odds and ends.Altogether, it may be recommended to such as desire to dine comfortablyand 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 facedeach other across a small table beside the wall, and very soon thediscomforts of their researches began to seem more tolerable.

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

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

  "Ha, ha!" laughed Welsh, "I think he'll be rather relieved himself.Waiter! another bottle of the same."

  The bottle arrived, and the waiter was just filling their glasses when ayoung clergyman entered the room and walked quietly towards the fartherend. Welsh raised his glass and exclaimed, "Here's luck to ourselves,Twiddel, old man!"

  At that moment the clergyman was passing their table, and at the mentionof this toast he started almost imperceptibly, and then, throwing a quickglance at the two, stopped and took a seat at the next table, with hisback turned towards them. Welsh, who was at the farther side, looked athim with some annoyance, and made a sign to Twiddel to talk a little morequietly.

  To the waiter, who came with the _menu_, the clergyman explained in aquiet voice that he was waiting for a friend, and asked for an eveningpaper instead, in which he soon appeared to be deeply engrossed.

  At first the conversation went on in a lower tone, but in a few minutesthey insensibly forgot their neighbour, and the voices rose again bystarts.

  "My dear fellow," Welsh was saying, "we can discuss that afterwards; wehaven't caught him yet."

  "I want to settle it now."

  "But I thought it was settled."

  "No, it wasn't," said Twiddel, with a foreign and vinous doggedness.

  "What do you suggest then?"

  "Divide it equally--L250 each."

  "You think you can claim half the credit for the idea and half thetrouble?"

  "I can claim _all_ the risk--practically."

  "Pooh!" said Welsh. "You think I risked nothing? Come, come, let's talk ofsomething else."

  "Oh, rot!" interrupted Twiddel, who by this time was decidedly flushed."You needn't ride the high horse like that, you are not MrMandell-Essington any longer."

  With a violent start, the clergyman brought his fist crash on the table,and exclaimed aloud, "By Heaven, that's it!"