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This confirmation of Mr Bunker’s aliases ought, one would expect, to have delighted the two conspirators, but, instead, it produced the most remarkable effect. Twiddel utterly collapsed, while even Welsh’s impudence at last deserted him. Neither said a word as the Baron von Blitzenberg greeted his friend with affectionate heartiness. “My friend, zis is good for ze heart!

Mr Bunker’s bedroom opened out of their common sitting-room, and so he declared that in the afternoon the Baron must be laid up there. “Keep your room all morning,” he said, “and look as pale as you can. I shall make my room ready for you.” When the Baron had retired, he threw himself into a chair and gazed for a few minutes round his bedroom.

The time slipped past, till the visit to St Egbert’s was almost at an end. They sat together latish in the evening in the Baron’s room. That very afternoon Lady Alicia had spent more time in Mr Bunker’s society than in his, and the Baron felt that the hour had come for an explanation.

In fact at this point Mrs Gabbon showed such a tendency to turn the conversation back to the merits of Dr Smith and the precise nature of Mr Bunker’s ailment, that her lodger, in despair, requested her to bring up a cup of tea as speedily as possible. “Before the middle of November,” he said to himself. “It is certainly a curious coincidence.”

The Countess replied seriously, “I am one of those out-of-date people, Mr Bunker, who consider some things come before money, but the Baron’s birth and position are fortunately unimpeachable.” “While his mental qualities,” said Mr Bunker, “are, in my experience, almost unique.” The Countess was confirmed in her opinion of Mr Bunker’s discrimination.

He was glancing towards them very doubtfully. Evidently his mind was not yet made up, and at once Mr Bunker’s fertile brain began to revolve plans. A little farther on they paused before another window, and exactly the same thing happened. Then Mr Bunker made up his mind.

No, Mr Welsh; if you go now, it will be in the company of that policeman you were so anxious to send for.” There was such an unmistakable threat in Mr Bunker’s voice and eye that Welsh hesitated. “We will talk it over, Mr Welsh,” Mr Bunker repeated distinctly. “Kindly sit down. I have several things to ask you and your friend Dr Twiddel.”

Go, zen,” replied the Baron, opening the door; “I haf no furzer vish to see a treacherous sponge zat vill neizer be true nor fight, bot jost takes money.” He slammed the door and went out. If he had waited for a moment, he would have seen a look in Mr Bunker’s face that he had never seen before.

Living! why, I have heard say that he blew a fifefor he was a musical as well as a Christian professor—a bold fife, to cheer the Guards and the brave Marines, as they marched with measured step, obeying an insane command, up Bunker’s height, whilst the rifles of the sturdy Yankees were sending the leaden hail sharp and thick amidst the red-coated ranks; for Philoh had not always been a man of peace, nor an exhorter to turn the other cheek to the smiter, but had even arrived at the dignity of a halberd in his country’s service before his six-foot form required rest, and the grey-haired veteran retired, after a long peregrination, to his native town, to enjoy ease and respectability on a pension of ‘eighteenpence a day’; and well did his fellow-townsmen act, when, to increase that ease and respectability, and with a thoughtful regard for the dignity of the good church service, they made him clerk and precentorthe man of the tall form and of the audible voice, which sounded loud and clear as his own Bunker fife.

Cairtainly ve vill shop. Bot, Bonker, Soud Africa? Vas it not Soud America?” “Did I say Africa? America of course I meant. Well, let us shop if you have no objections: then we might have a little lunch, and afterwards visit the Park. For the evening, what do you say to a theatre?” “Goot!” cried the Baron. “Make it tzos.” Mr Bunker’s shopping turned out to be a pretty extensive operation.