“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr Bunker, “I’d forgotten all about her. I ought to have told you that I once met her before, when she showed sympathy—practical sympathy, I may add—for an unfortunate gentleman in Clankwood. That’s all.” “You do not loff her?” persisted the Baron. “I, my dear chap? No. You are most welcome to her—_and_ the countess.” “Does she not loff you?” “On my honour, no. I told her a few early reminiscences; she happened to discover they were not what is generally known as true, and took so absurd a view of the case that I doubt whether she would speak to me again if she met me. In fact, Baron, if I read the omens aright—and I’ve had some experience—you only need courage and a voice.” The bed creaked, there was a volcanic upheaval of the clothes as the Baron sprang out on to the floor, and the next instant Mr Bunker was clasped in his embrace. “Ach, my own Bonker, forgif me! I haf suspected, I haf not been ze true friend; you have sairved me right to gom here as ze Baron. I vas too bad a Baron to gom! You have amused me, you have instrogted, you have varmed my heart. My dear frient!” To tell the truth, Mr Bunker looked, for the first time in their acquaintance, a little ill at ease. He laughed, but it sounded affected. “My dear fellow—hang it! You’d make me out a martyr. As a matter of fact, I’ve been such a thorn as very few people would stand in their flesh. There’s nothing to forgive, my dear Baron, and a lot to thank you for.” “I haf been rude, Bonker; I haf insulted you! You forgif me?” “With all my heart, if you think it’s needed, but——” “And you vill not go now? You vill stay here?” “What, two Barons at once? My dear chap, we’d merely confuse the butler.” “Ach, you vill joke, you hombog! But you most stay!” “And what about my friend, Dr Escott? No, Baron, it would only mean breakfast and the next train to Clankwood.” “Zey vill not take you ven you tell zem! I shall insist viz Sir Richard!” “The law is the law, Baron, and I’m a certified lunatic. Here we must part till the weather clears; and mind, you mustn’t say a word about my coming to see you.” The Baron looked at him disconsolately. “You most really go, Bonker?” “Really, Baron.” “And vere to?” “To London town again by the milk train.” “And vat vill you do zere?” “Look for my name.” “Bot how?” Mr Bunker hesitated. “I have a little clue,” he said at last, “only a thread, but I’ll try it for what it’s worth.” “Haf you money enoff?” “Thanks to your generosity and my skill at billiards, yes, which reminds me that I must return poor Trelawney’s ten pounds some day. At present, I can’t afford to be scrupulous. So, you see, I’m provided for.” “Cigars at least, Bonker! You most smoke, my frient vizout a name!” The Baron, night-shirted and barefooted as he was, dived into his portmanteau and produced a large box of cigars. “You like zese, Bonker. Zey are your own choice. Smoke zem and zink of me!”