“I came up to town, and on my very first evening I had the good fortune to meet the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg—as perhaps you may remember. In my own defence, Baron, I may fairly plead that since I could remember nothing about my past career, I was entitled to supply the details from my imagination. After all, I have no proof that some of my stories may not have been correct. I used this privilege freely in Clankwood, and, in a word, since I couldn’t tell the truth if I wanted to, I quenched the desire.” “You hombog!” said the Baron, not without a note of admiration. “I was, and I gloried in it. Baron, if you ever want to know how ample a thing life can be, become a certified lunatic! You are quite irresponsible for your debts, your crimes, and, not least, your words. It certainly enlarges one’s horizon. All this time, I may say, I was racking my brains—which, by the way, have been steadily growing saner in other matters—for some recollections of my previous whereabouts, my career, if I had any, and, above all, of my name.” “Can you remember nozing?” “I can remember a large country house which I think belonged to me, but in what part of the country it stands I haven’t the slightest recollection. I can’t remember any family, and as no one has inquired for me, I don’t suppose I had any. Many incidents—sporting, festive, amusing, and discreditable—I remember distinctly, and many faces, but there’s nothing to piece them together with. Can you recall one or two incidents in town, when people spoke to me or bowed to me?” “Yes, vell; I vondered zen.” “I suppose they knew me. In a general sort of way I knew them. But when a man doesn’t know his own name, and will probably be replaced in an asylum if he’s identified, there isn’t much encouragement for greeting old friends. And do you remember my search for a name in the hotel at St Egbert’s?” “Yah—zat is, yes.” “It was for my own I was looking.” “You found it not?” “No. The worst of it is, I can’t even remember what letter it began with. Sometimes I think it was M, or perhaps N, and sometimes I’m almost sure it was E. It will come to me some day, no doubt, Baron, but till it does I shall have to wander about a nameless man, looking for it. And after all, I am not without the consolations of a certain useful, workaday kind of philosophy.” He rose from the bed and smiled humorously at his friend. “And now, Baron,” he said, “it only remains to offer you such thanks and apologies as a lunatic may, and then clear out before the cock crows. These are my brushes, I think.” There was still something on the Baron’s mind: he lay for a moment watching Mr Bunker collect a few odds and ends and put them rapidly into a small bag, and then blurted out suddenly, “Ze Lady Alicia—do you loff her?”