For an instant even Mr Bunker himself seemed a trifle taken aback; then he replied politely, “I am not a thief, sir.” “Then what _’ave_ you been doing?” demanded the sergeant. “Merely demonstrating to my friend the Baron the extraordinary vigilance of the English police.” For a time neither the old gentleman nor the sergeant seemed quite capable of taking the same view of the episode as Mr Bunker, and, curiously enough, the Baron seemed not disinclined to let his friend extricate himself as best he could. No one, however, could resist Mr Bunker, and before very long he and the Baron were driving up Bishopsgate Street together, with the old gentleman’s four-wheeler lumbering in front of them. “Well, Baron, are you satisfied with your morning’s instruction?” asked his friend. “A German nobleman is not used to be in soch a position,” replied the Baron, stiffly. “You must admit, however, that the object-lesson in the detection of anarchy was neatly presented.” “I admit nozing of ze kind,” said the Baron, stolidly. For the rest of the drive he sat obdurately silent. He went to his room with the mien of an offended man. During lunch he only opened his lips to eat. On his side Mr Bunker maintained a cheerful composure, and seemed not a whit put about by his friend’s lack of appreciation. “Anozzer bottle of claret,” said the Baron, gruffly, to a waiter. Mr Bunker let him consume it entirely by himself, awaiting the results with patience. Gradually his face relaxed a little, until all at once, when the bump in the bottom of the bottle was beginning to appear above the wine, the whole room was startled by a stentorian, “Ha, ha, ha!” “My dear Bonker!” cried the Baron, when he had finished laughing, “forgif me! I begin for to see ze moral, ha, ha, ha!” CHAPTER VI. The Baron expressed no further wish for instruction, but, instead, he began to show a desire for society. “Doesn’t one fool suffice?” his friend asked. “Ach, yes, my vise fool; ha, ha, ha! Bot sometimes I haf ze craving for peoples, museec, dancing—in vun vord, society, Bonker!” “But this is not the season, Baron. You wouldn’t mix with any but the best society, would you?” “Zere are some nobles in town. In my paper I see Lord zis, Duke of zat, in London. Pairhaps my introdogtions might be here now.” This suggestion seemed to strike Mr Bunker unfavourably. “My company is beginning to pall, is it, Baron?” “Ach, no, dear Bonker! I vould merely go out jost vunce or tvice. Haf you no friends now in town?” An idea seemed to seize Mr Bunker. “Let me see the paper,” he said. After perusing it carefully for a little, he at last exclaimed in a tone of pleased discovery, “Hullo! I see that Lady Tulliwuddle is giving a reception and dance to-night. Most of the smart people in town just now are sure to be there. Would you care to go, Baron?” “Ach, surely,” said the Baron, eagerly. “Bot haf you been invited, Bonker?”