"Heaven help me," said Mole. "What a fool I am getting in my old age. Here am I in a strange country, and ought to have known better than to indulge in the barbarous games of the people. Confound base-ball and the man who invented it; but it serves me right. I have no one but myself to blame." CHAPTER XVI. BAMBINO IN THE HOSPITAL. Mr. Mole was in the accident ward, and many poor wretches were sighing and groaning around him. In the next bed on the right-hand side was a man who appeared in a comatose state. Calling the nurse he said, "What is the matter with that man there?" "He is dying," was the reply. "Is that so?" "It's a case of suicide. He was the Italian valet of an English nobleman, they say." "What is the nobleman's name?" "Lord Maltravers." Mr. Mole, at this announcement, gave a start which nearly displaced the splints around his leg. "Bambino!" he ejaculated. As he said this; the man in a dying condition looked up with wide-open eyes. The mention of his name seemed to have aroused him from the state of stupor into which he was plunged. "Yes. I am Bambino," he said, in a faint voice. "Who calls me?" "I," replied Mole. "Who are you? My eyes are dim. I cannot see you. All is a blank." "A friend." "What would you with me, friend?" "Who shot you?" This was a random question on the part of the professor, but it touched the right chord. "My master," replied Bambino, for it was he, and Mr. Mole by a strange fatality had been placed in the same ward and in the bed next to the scoundrel. "Why did he shoot you?" "Because he was going to marry a young lady in New York and I told him he had a wife alive and that it would be bigamy. I wanted money to keep quiet and he would not give it me. Then I threatened to produce the first wife, so he shot me." The nurse was standing by, listening to the strange conversation. "Did you hear that?" inquired Mole. "Yes, sir," she replied. "Pay particular attention to it if you please, as it is of the utmost importance to a friend of mine and you will be required possibly as a witness." "Who is this first wife?" pursued Mole, "and what is her name?" "A French woman, Adéle Bellefontaine, living with Madame Vesta Levine, the clairvoyant, in New York city!" The heavy lids fell down over the eyes and the man lapsed into a state of semi-consciousness. It was then about nine o'clock in the evening. If the professor's leg had not been broken, he would have got up and hastened to the Continental Hotel to apprise Jack Harkaway of that which would have been amply sufficient to stop the impending marriage on the morrow between Lena Van Hoosen and Lord Maltravers. The next day they were to be married and if ever that marriage took place, Jack's heart would be broken. Bambino's utterances were not the ravings of delirium, far from it; he spoke coherently enough, and had given sufficient information to enable Jack to stop the marriage.