CHAPTER VII. The party at Brierley Park had gone at last to bed. The Baron was installed in his late usurper’s room, and from the clock-tower the hour of three had just been tolled. Sympathy and Sir Richard’s cellar had greatly mollified the Baron’s wrath; he had almost begun to see the humorous side of his late experience; as a rival Mr Bunker was extinct, and with an easy mind and a placid smile he had fallen asleep some two hours past. The fire burned low, and for long nothing but the occasional sigh of the wind in the trees disturbed the silence. At length, had the Baron been awake, he might have heard the stealthiest of footsteps in the corridor outside. Then they stopped; his door was gently opened, and first a head and then a whole man slipped in. Still the Baron slept, dreaming peacefully of his late companion. They were driving somewhere in a hansom, Mr Bunker was telling one of his most amusing stories, when there came a shock, the hansom seemed to turn a somersault, and the Baron awoke. At first he thought he must be dreaming still; the electric light had been turned on and the room was bright as day, but, more bewildering yet, Mr Bunker was seated on his bed, gazing at him with an expression of thoughtful amusement. “Well, Baron,” he said, “I trust you are comfortable in these excellent quarters.” The Baron, half awake and wholly astonished, was unable to collect his ideas in time to make any reply. “But remember,” continued Mr Bunker, “you have a reputation to live up to. I have set the standard high for Bavarian barons.” The indignant Baron at last recovered his wits. “If you do not go away _at vonce_,” he said, raising himself on his elbows, “I shall raise ze house upon you!” “Have you forgotten that you are talking to a dangerous lunatic, who probably never stirs without his razor?” The Baron looked at him and turned a little pale. He made no further movement, but answered stoutly enough, “Vat do you vant?” “In the first place, I want my brush and comb, a few clothes, and my hand-bag. Events happened rather more quickly this evening than I had anticipated.” “Take zem.” “I should also like,” continued Mr Bunker, unmoved, “to have a little talk with you. I think I owe you some explanation—perhaps an apology or two—and I’m afraid it’s my last chance.” “Zay it zen.” “Of course I understand that you make no hostile demonstration till I am finished? A hunted man must take precautions, you know.” “I vill let you go.” “Thanks, Baron.” Mr Bunker folded his arms, leaned his back against the foot of the bed, and began in his half-bantering way, “I have amused you, Baron, now and then, you must admit?” The Baron made no reply.