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Updated: May 18, 2025
“Twiddel to Billson,” he said to himself. “This may possibly be worth looking at.” It was dated more than a month back from the town of Fogelschloss. “Dear Tom,” it ran, “we are having an A 1 time. Old Welsh is in splendid form, doing the part to perfection. He has never given himself away yet, not even when drunk, which, I am sorry to say, he has been too often.
Trusting to hear from you at your very earliest convenience, believe me, yours sincerely, Welsh looked at his friend with the respect that prosperity naturally excites. He smiled on him as an equal, and cried, heartily, “Congratulations again! When do you start?” Twiddel fidgeted uncomfortably, “I—er—well, you see—ah—I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.” “What’s the matter?”
The Channel was safely behind them, London was close ahead, and the piston of the engine seemed to thump a triumphal air. “We’ve done it, Twiddel, my boy!” said the one. “Thank Heaven!” replied the other. “And myself,” added his friend. “Yes,” said Twiddel; “you played your part uncommonly well, Welsh.” “It was the deuce of a fine spree!” sighed Welsh. “The deuce,” assented Twiddel.
“Yes, sir.” “Thanks,” said Mr Bunker. “By the way, Dr Twiddel might not like your telling this even to a friend, so you needn’t say I called, I’ll tell him myself when I see him, and I won’t give you away.” He smiled benignly, and the little maid thanked him quite gratefully. “Evidently,” he thought as he went away, “I was meant for something in the detective line.”
They both drove first to Twiddel’s rooms; and as they looked out once more on the life and lights and traffic of the streets, their faces cleared again. “We’ll have a merry evening!” cried Welsh. “A little supper,” suggested Twiddel; “a music-hall——” “Et cetera,” added Welsh, with a laugh. The doctor had written of their coming, and they found a fire in the back room, and the table laid.
“After all,” he reflected, “it may not have been Dr Twiddel who drove away; in fact, if it was he who arrived in the first cab, it’s any odds against it. Pooh! It can’t be. Still, it’s a curious thing if two cabs loaded with luggage came to the house in the same evening, and one drove away without unlading.” With his spirits a little damped in spite of his philosophy, he went back to his rooms.
“The middle of November, you say? That’s a long holiday for a doctor to take.” “’E ’avn’t no practice to speak of,—not as I knows of, leastways.” “What sort of a man is he—young or old?” “By my opinion, sir, ’e’s too young. I don’t ’old by them young doctors. Now Dr Smith, sir——” “Dr Twiddel is quite a young man, then?” “What I’d call little better than a boy, sir.
Welsh spoke with an air of reflection, which might have been entirely disinterested. “He’d probably commit suicide first,” said Twiddel, “and of course I’d get all the blame.” “Or homicide,” replied Welsh, “When he would.” “No, he wouldn’t—that’s the worst of it; I’d be blamed for having my own throat cut.” “Twiddel,” said his friend, deliberately, “it seems to me you’re a fool.”
“In Bavaria, at my own castle.” “You are mistaken, sir,” said Welsh. “One moment, Mr Welsh,” said Mr Bunker. “How long ago was this, Baron?” “Jost before I gom to London. He travelled viz zis ozzer gentleman, Dr Twiddel.” “You are wrong, sir,” persisted Welsh. “For his health,” added the Baron. A light began to dawn on Mr Bunker. “His health?” he cried, and then smiled politely at Welsh.
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!
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