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Updated: May 18, 2025
The stare that Welsh attempted in reply was somewhat ineffective. “Perhaps, Dr Twiddel, you can give the account I want?” said Mr Bunker. The poor doctor looked at his friend, hesitated, and finally stammered out, “I—I don’t see why.” Mr Bunker pulled a paper out of his pocket and showed it to him. “Perhaps this may suggest a why.”
But to-morrow or the next my fate will be decided. Give me of your prayers, my reverent friend! “Dear old Baron!” said Mr Bunker. “Well, I’ve at least a dinner to look forward to.” Dr Twiddel, meanwhile, was no less anxious to make the Rev. Alexander Butler’s acquaintance than the Rev. Alexander Butler was to make his.
“One moment, Baron! Before we send these gentlemen back to their really promising career of fraud, I want to ask one or two more questions.” He turned to Twiddel. “What were you to be paid for this?” Mr Bunker opened his eyes. “That’s the way my money goes? From your anxiety to recapture me, I presume you have not yet been paid?”
Waiter! another bottle of the same.” The bottle arrived, and the waiter was just filling their glasses when a young clergyman entered the room and walked quietly towards the farther end. Welsh raised his glass and exclaimed, “Here’s luck to ourselves, Twiddel, old man!”
At that moment the clergyman was passing their table, and at the mention of this toast he started almost imperceptibly, and then, throwing a quick glance at the two, stopped and took a seat at the next table, with his back turned towards them. Welsh, who was at the farther side, looked at him with some annoyance, and made a sign to Twiddel to talk a little more quietly.
With a violent start, the clergyman brought his fist crash on the table, and exclaimed aloud, “By Heaven, that’s it!” As one may suppose, everybody in the room started in great astonishment at this extraordinary outburst. With a sharp “Hollo!” Twiddel turned in his seat, to see the clergyman standing over him with a look of the keenest inquiry in his well-favoured face.
“I’m at least alive,” cried Twiddel, warming with sympathy for himself, “which I probably wouldn’t be for long in Mr Essington’s company.” “I don’t blame your nerves, dear boy,” said Welsh, with a smile that showed all his teeth, “only your head. Here are £500 going a-begging.
There must be some way——” He paused, deep in reflection. “How would it do,” he remarked in a minute, “if I were to go in your place?” Twiddel laughed and shook his head. “Couldn’t be managed?” “Couldn’t possibly, I’m afraid.” “No,” said Welsh. “I foresee difficulties.” He fished a pipe out of his pocket, filled and lit it, and leaned back in his chair gazing at the ceiling.
You can now put on your coat and go.” As Welsh still sat defiantly, he added, “At once, sir! or you may possibly find policemen and four-wheeled cabs outside. I have something else to say to Dr Twiddel.” With the best air he could muster, Welsh silently cocked his hat on the side of his head, threw his coat over his arm, and was walking out, when a watchful waiter intercepted him.
“I must catch him! Do you suppose I let him loose?” “You must catch him, all the same.” “I shan’t bother my head about him,” answered Twiddel, with the recklessness of despair. “You won’t? You want to have the story known, I suppose?” “I don’t care if it is.” Welsh looked at him for a minute: then he jumped up and exclaimed, “You need a drink, old man. Let’s hurry up that slavey.”
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