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Updated: May 16, 2025
He arrived shortly before seven o’clock, after a dark and muddy tramp, and, still swearing under his breath, pulled the bell with indignant energy. “I am ze Baron von Blitzenberg, bot zere vas no carriage at ze station,” he informed the butler in his haughtiest tones. The man looked at him suspiciously. “The Baron arrived this morning,” he said. “Ze Baron? Vat Baron? I am ze Baron!”
"Zat is not true about my dogs," he replied, "but I do confess my life is vary dignified. So moch is expected of a Blitzenberg. Oh, ja, zere is moch state and ceremony." "And you seem to thrive on it." "Vell, it does not destroy ze appetite," the Baron admitted; "and it is my duty so to live at Fogelschloss, and I alvays vish to do my duty. But, ach, sometimes I do vant to kick ze trace!"
"Blitzenberg and Essington were two conventional members of society, ageing ingloriously, tamely approaching five-and-thirty in bath-chairs. Tulliwuddle and Bunker are paladins of romance! We thought we had grown up thank Heaven, we were deceived!"
IT was an evening in early August, luminous and warm; the scene, a certain club now emptied of all but a sprinkling of its members; the festival, dinner; and the persons of the play, that gentleman lately known as Count Bunker and his friend the Baron von Blitzenberg. The Count was habited in tweeds; the Baron in evening dress.
Colonel Savage smiled grimly and suggested, “Perhaps he wants to give the impostor an innings.” “Dr Escott, I think, can tell you,” replied the baronet. “Gentlemen,” said the doctor, “the man whom you have met as the Baron von Blitzenberg is none other than a most cunning and determined lunatic.
Again and again she studied the cryptogram, till at last a few definite conclusions began to crystallize out of the confusion. That the "tenderer plant" symbolized the lady herself, that she was a person to be regarded with extreme suspicion, and that emphatically the bouquet was never originally intended for the Baroness von Blitzenberg, all became settled convictions.
A whistle from the guard, another from the engine, and they were off, clattering southward in the first of the morning sunshine. Inadequately attired, damp, hungry, and divorced from tobacco as the Count was, he yet could say to himself with the sincerest honesty, "I wouldn't change carriages with the Baron von Blitzenberg not even for a pair of dry socks and a cigar! Alas, poor Rudolph!
This fire wouldn't draw." "Strange!" mused the Baron. "I did smell a leetle smell of zat before to-night." "Yes; one notices it all through the house with an east wind." This seemed to the Baron a complete explanation of the coincidence. At the house in Belgrave Square at present tenanted by the Baron and Baroness von Blitzenberg, an event of considerable importance had occurred.
Your perfectly natural doubts will be laid at rest when I tell you that I hope to be accompanied by the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg." The Baron could no longer contain himself. "Himmel! Hurray! My dear friend, I vill go mit you to hell!" "That's very good of you," said Essington, "but you mistake my present destination. I merely wish your company as far as the Castle of Hechnahoul."
Into the history of Mr Francis Beveridge, as supplied by the obliging candour of the Baron von Blitzenberg and the notes of Dr Escott, Dr Twiddel and his friend Robert Welsh make a kind of explanatory entry. They most effectually set the ball a-rolling, and so the story starts in a small room looking out on a very uninteresting London street.
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