"I'm satisfied you're Fatty Welch," Barney replied. "I ain't on to your game, I admit. Still, I can do the Baron act awhile if it amuses you any." The train emerged from the tunnel, and McAllister observed that there were other friends of his on the car, bound evidently for the same destination. Well, anything was better than having that confounded story about the Tombs get around. He had often thought that if it ever did he would go abroad to live. He couldn't stand ridicule. His dignity was his chief asset. Nothing so effectually, as McAllister well knew, conceals the absence of brains. But could he ever in the wide, wide world work off the detective as a baron? Well, if he failed, he could explain the situation on the basis of a practical joke and save his face in that way. Just at present the Baron was getting along famously with Wainwright. McAllister hoped he wouldn't overdo it. One thing, thank Heaven, he remembered--Wainwright had flunked his French disgracefully at college and probably wouldn't dare venture it under the circumstances. There was still a chance that he might convince his captor of his mistake before they reached Scarsdale, and on the strength of this he proposed a cigar. But Wainwright had frozen hard to his Baron and accepted for himself with alacrity, even suggesting a drink on his own account. McAllister's heart failed him as he thought of having to present the detective to Mrs. Blair and her fashionable guests and--by George, the fellow hadn't got a dress-suit! They never could get over _that_. It was bad enough to lug in a stranger--a "copper"--and palm him off as the distinguished friend of a friend, but a feller without any evening clothes--impossible! McAllister wanted to shoot him. Was ever a chap so tied up? And now if the feller wasn't talking about Paris! _Paris!_ He'd make some awful break, and then-- Oh, curse the luck, anyway! Then it was that McAllister resolved to do something desperate. II "I'm perfectly delighted to have the Baron. Why didn't you bring Pierrepont, too? How d'y' do, Baron? Let me present you to my husband. Gordon--Baron de Ville. I'll put you and Mr. McAllister together. We're just a little crowded. You've hardly time to dress--dinner in just nineteen minutes." "Zank you! It ees so vera hospitable!" said the Baron, bowing low, and twirling his mustache in the most approved fashion.