The Lunatic at Large

J >> J. Storer Clouston >> The Lunatic at Large

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"One dozen shirts," he read, "four under-flannels, four pair socks, one
dozen handkerchiefs, two sleeping-suits--marked Francis Beveridge! the
account rendered to Dr G. Twiddel! What in the name of wonderment is the
meaning of this?"

He sat down with the bill in his hand and gazed hard at it.

"Precisely my outfit," he said to himself.

"Am I--Does it----? What a rum thing!"

He sat for about ten minutes looking hard at the floor. Then he burst out
laughing, resumed in a moment his air of philosophical opportunism, and
set about a further search of the desk. He looked at the bills and seemed
to find nothing more to interest him. Then he glanced at one or two
letters in the drawers, threw the first few back again, and at last paused
over one.

"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. But
then old Welsh is so funny when he is drunk that it makes him all the more
like the original, or at least what the original is supposed to be.

"Of course we don't dare to venture into places where we would see too
many English. This is quite an amusing place for a German town, some baths
and a kind of a gambling-table, and some pretty girls--for Germans. There
is a sporting aristocrat here, in an old castle, who is very friendly, and
is much impressed with Welsh's account of his family plate and
deer-forest, and has asked us once or twice to come out and see him. We
are no end of swells, I assure you.

"Ta, ta, old chap. Hope the practice prospers in your hands. Don't kill
_all_ the patients before I come back.--Ever thine,

GEORGE TWIDDEL."

"From this I conclude that Dr Twiddel is on the festive side of forty," he
reflected; "there are elements of mystery and a general atmosphere of
alcohol about it, but that's all, I'm afraid."

He put it back in the drawer, but the bill he slipped into his pocket.

"And now," thought he, "it is time I made the first move."

After waiting for a minute or two to make sure that everything was quiet,
he gently stepped out into a little linoleum-carpeted hall. On the right
hand was the front door, on the left two others that must, he thought,
open into rooms on the back. He chose the nearer at a venture, and entered
boldly. It was quite dark. He closed the door again softly, struck a
match, and looked round the room. It seemed to be Dr Twiddel's dining- and
sitting-room.

"Pipes, photographs, well-sat-in chairs," he observed, "_and_ a window."

He pulled aside the blind and looked out into the darkness of a strip of
back-garden. For a minute he listened intently, but no sound came from the
house. Then he threw up the sash and scrambled out. It was quite dark by
this time: he was enclosed between two rows of vague, black houses, with
bright windows here and there, and chimney-cans faintly cutting their
uncouth designs among a few pale London stars. The space between was
filled with the two lines of little gardens and the ranks of walls, and in
the middle the black chasm of a railway cutting.

A frightened cat bolted before him as he hurried down to the foot of the
strip, but that was all the life he saw. He looked over the wall right
into the deep crevasse. A little way off, on the one hand, hung a cluster
of signal-lights, and the shining rails reflected them all along to the
mouth of a tunnel on the other. Turning his head this way and that, there
was nothing to be seen anywhere else but garden wall after garden wall.

"It's a choice between a hurdle-race through these gardens, a cat-walk
along this wall, and a descent into the cutting," he reflected. "The walls
look devilish high and the cutting devilish deep. Hang me if I know which
road to take."

While he was still debating this somewhat perplexing question, he felt the
ground begin to quiver under him. Through the hum of London there
gradually arose a louder roar, and in a minute the head-lights of an
engine flashed out of the tunnel. One after another a string of bright
carriages followed it, each more slowly than the carriage in front, till
the whole train was at a standstill below him with the red signal-lamp
against it.

In an instant his decision was taken. At the peril of life and garments he
scrambled down the rocky bank, picking as he went an empty first-class
compartment, and just as the train began to move again he swung himself up
and sprang into a carriage.

Unfortunately he had chosen the wrong one in his haste, and as he opened
the door he saw a comical vision of a stout little old gentleman huddling
into the farther corner in the most dire consternation.

"Who are you, sir? What do you want, sir?" spluttered the old gentleman.
"If you come any nearer me, sir--one step, sir!--I shall instantly
communicate with the guard! I have no money about me. Go away, sir!"

"I regret to learn that you have no money," replied Mr Bunker,
imperturbably; "but I am sorry that I am not at present in a condition to
offer a loan."

He sat down and smiled amicably, but the little gentleman was not to be
quieted so easily. Seeing that no violence was apparently intended, his
fright changed into respectable indignation.

"You needn't try to be funny with me, sir. You are committing an illegal
act. You have placed yourself in an uncommonly serious position, sir."

"Indeed, sir?" replied Mr Bunker. "I myself should have imagined that by
remaining on the rails I should have been much more seriously situated."

The old gentleman looked at him like an angry small dog that longs to bite
if it only dared.

"What is the meaning of this illegal intrusion?" he demanded. "Who are
you? Where did you come from?"

"I had the misfortune, sir," explained Mr Bunker, politely, "to drop my
hat out of the window of a neighbouring carriage. While I was picking it
up the train started, and I had to enter the first compartment I could
find. I am sorry that my entry frightened you."

"Frightened me!" spluttered the old gentleman. "I am not afraid, sir. I am
an honest man who need fear no one, sir. I do not believe you dropped your
hat. It is perfectly uninjured."

"It may be news to you, sir," replied Mr Bunker, "that by gently yet
firmly passing the sleeve of your coat round your hat in the direction of
the nap, it is possible to restore the gloss. Thus," and suiting the
action to the word he took off his hat, drew his coat-sleeve across it,
and with a genial smile at the old gentleman, replaced it on his head.

But his neighbour was evidently of that truculent disposition which merely
growls at blandishments. He snorted and replied testily, "That is all very
well, sir, but I don't believe a word of it."

"If you prefer it, then, I fell off the telegraph wires in an attempt to
recover my boots."

The old gentleman became purple in the face.

"Have a care, sir! I am a director of this company, and at the next
station I shall see that you give a proper account of yourself. And here
we are, sir. I trust you have a more credible story in readiness."

As he spoke they drew up beside an underground platform, and the irascible
old gentleman, with a very threatening face that was not yet quite cleared
of alarm, bustled out in a prodigious hurry. Mr Bunker lay back in his
seat and replied with a smile, "I shall be delighted to tell any story
within the bounds of strict propriety."

But the moment he saw the irate director disappear in the crowd he whipped
out too, and with the least possible delay transferred himself into a
third-class carriage.

From his seat near the window he watched the old gentleman hurry back with
three officials at his heels, and hastily search each first-class
compartment in turn. The last one was so near him that he could hear his
friend say, "Damn it, the rascal has bolted in the crowd!" And with that
the four of them rushed off to the barrier to intercept or pursue this
suspicious character. Then the whistle blew, and as the train moved off Mr
Bunker remarked complacently, if a little mysteriously, to himself, "Well,
whoever I am, it would seem I'm rather difficult to catch."

CHAPTER IX.

Mr Bunker arrived at the Hotel Mayonaise in what, from his appearance, was
an unusually reflective state of mind for him. The other visitors, many of
whom had begun to regard him and his noble friend with great interest, saw
him pass through the crowd in the hall and about the lifts with a
thoughtful air. He went straight to the Baron's room. Outside the door he
paused for an instant to set his face in a cheerful smile, and then burst
gaily in upon his friend.

"Well, my dear Baron!" he cried, "what luck in the Park?"

The Baron was pulling his moustache over an English novel. He laid down
his book and frowned at Mr Bunker.

"I do not onderstand your English vays," he replied.

Mr Bunker perceived that something was very much amiss, nor was he without
a suspicion of the cause. He laughed, however, and asked, "What's the
matter, old man?"

"I vent to ze Park," said the Baron, with a solemn deliberation that
evidently came hardly to him. "I entered ze Park. I vas dressed, as you
know, viz taste and appropriety. I vas sober, as you know. I valked under
ze trees, and I looked agreeably at ze people. Goddam!"

"My dear Baron!" expostulated Mr Bunker.

The Baron resumed his intense composure with a great effort.

"Not long vas ven I see ze Lady Hilton drive past mit ze ozzer Lady Hilton
and vun old lady. I raise my hat--no bow from zem. 'Pairhaps,' I zink, 'zey
see me not.' Zey stop by ze side to speak viz a gentleman. I gomed up and
again I raise my hat and I say, 'How do you do, Lady Hilton? I hope you
are regovered from ze dance.' Zat was gorrect, vas it not?"

"Perfectly," replied Mr Bunker, with great gravity.

"Zen vy did ze Lady Hilton schream and ze ozzer Lady Hilton cry, 'Ach, zat
German man!' And vy did ze old lady schream to ze gentleman, 'Send him
avay! How dare you? Insolence!' and suchlike vords?"

"What remarkable conduct, my dear Baron!" said Mr Bunker.

"Remargable!" roared the justly incensed Baron. "Is it not more zan
_remargable?_ Donner und blitzen! Mon Dieu! Blood! I know not ze English
vord so bad enoff for soch conduct."

"It must have been a joke," his friend suggested, soothingly.

"Vun dashed bad joke, zen! Ze gentleman said to me, 'Get out of zis, you
rasgal!' 'Vat mean you, sare?' say I. 'You know quite vell,' said he.
'Glear out!' So I gave him my card and tell him I would be glad to see his
frient zat he should send, for zat I vas not used to be called zo. Zen I
raise my hat to ze Lady Hilton and say, 'Adieu, madame, I know now ze
English lady,' and I valk on. Himmel!"

"What a very extraordinary affair, Baron!"

The Baron grunted with inarticulate indignation and nearly pulled his
moustache out by the roots. Abruptly he broke out again, "English ladies?
I do not believe zey are ladies! Never haf I been treated zo! Vat do you
mean, Bonker, by taking me among soch peoples?"

"_I_, my dear Baron? It was not I who introduced you to the Hiltons. I
never saw them before."

The difficulty of attaching any blame to his friend seemed to have
anything but a soothing effect on the Baron. You could almost fancy that
you heard his tail lash the floor.

"Zat vas not all," he continued, after a short struggle with his wrath. "I
valked on, and soon I see two of ze frients I made last night at supper."

"Which two?"

"Ze yong man zat spoke to you ven you rise from ze table, and vun of ze
ladies. Again I raise my hat and say, 'How do you do? I hope zat you are
regovered from ze dance.' Zat is gorrect, you say?"

"Under most circumstances."

"Ze man stared at me, and ze voman--I vill not say lady--says to him zo zat
I can hear, 'Zat awful German!' Ze man says, 'Zo it is,' and laughed. 'I
haf ze pleasure of meeting you last night at ze Lady Tollyvoddle,' I said.
'I remember,' he said; 'but I haf no vish to meet you again.' I take out
my card to gif him, but he only said, 'Go avay, or I vill call ze police!'
'Ze police! To me, Baron von Blitzenberg! Teufel!' I replied."

"And that was all, Baron?" asked Mr Bunker, in what seemed rather like a
tone of relief.

"No; suddenly he did turn back and said, 'By ze vay, who vas zat viz you
last night?' To vich I replied, 'If you address me again, my man, I vill
call ze police. Go avay!' "

"Bravo, Baron! Ha, ha, ha! Excellent!" laughed Mr Bunker.

This applause served to reinstate the Baron a little in his own good
opinion. He laughed too, though rather noisily than heartily, and suddenly
became grave again.

"Vat means zis, Bonker? Vat haf I done? Vy should zey treat me zo?"

"Well, you see, my dear Baron," his friend explained, "I ought to have
warned you that it is not usual in England to address ladies you have met
at a dance without some direct invitation on their part. At the same time,
it is evident that the Hiltons and the other man, who of course must be
connected with the Foreign Office, are aware of some sudden strain in the
diplomatic relations between England and Germany, which as yet is unknown
to the public. Your ancient name and your high rank have naturally led
them to conclude that you are an agent of the German Government, and an
international significance was of course attached to your presence in the
Park. I certainly think they took a most outrageous advantage of a
trifling detail of etiquette to repulse you; but then you must remember,
Baron, that their families might have been seriously compromised with the
Government if they had been seen with so prominent a member of the German
aristocracy in the middle of Hyde Park."

"Zo?" said the Baron, thoughtfully. "I begin to onderstand. My name, as
you say, is cairtainly distinguished. Bot zen should I remain in London?"

"Just what I was wondering, Baron. What do you say to a trip down to St
Egbert's-on-Sea? It's a very select watering-place, and we might spend a
week or two there very pleasantly."

"Egxellent!" said the Baron; "ven shall we start?"

"To-morrow morning."

"Goot! zo let it be. I am tired of London and of ze English ladies'
manners. Police to ze Baron von Blitzenberg! Ve shall go to St Egbert's,
Bonker!"

PART III.

CHAPTER I.

The Baron and Mr Bunker walked arm-in-arm along the esplanade at St
Egbert's-on-Sea.

"Aha!" said the Baron, "zis is more fresh zan London!"

"Yes," replied his friend; "we are now in the presence of that stimulating
element which provides patriotic Britons with music-hall songs, and
dyspeptic Britons with an appetite."

A stirring breeze swept down the long white esplanade, threatening hats
and troubling skirts; the pale-green south-coast sea rumbled up the
shingle; the day was bright and pleasant for the time of year, and drove
the Baron's mischances from his head; altogether it seemed to Mr Bunker
that the omens were good. They were both dressed in the smartest of tweed
suits, and walked jauntily, like men who knew their own value. Every now
and then, as they passed a pretty face, the Baron would say, "Aha, Bonker!
zat is not so bad, eh?"

And Mr Bunker, who seemed not unwilling that his friend should find some
entertaining distraction in St Egbert's, would look at the owners of these
faces with a prospector's eye and his own unrivalled assurance.

They had walked up and down three or four times, when a desire for a
different species of diversion began to overtake the Baron. It was the one
kind of desire that the Baron never even tried to wrestle with.

"My vriend Bonker," said he, "is it not somevere about time for loncheon,
eh?"

"I should say it was precisely the hour."

"Ha, ha! zen, let us gom and eat. Himmel, zis sea is ze fellow to make von
hungry!"

The Baron had taken a private suite of rooms on the first floor of the
best hotel in St Egbert's, and after a very substantial lunch Mr Bunker
stretched himself on the luxurious sitting-room sofa and announced his
intention of having a nap.

"I shall go out," said the Baron. "You vill not gom?"

"I shall leave you to make a single-handed conquest," replied Mr Bunker.
"Besides, I have a little matter I want to look into."

So the Baron arranged his hat airily, at what he had perceived to be the
most fashionable and effective English angle, and strutted off to the
esplanade.

It was about two hours later that he burst excitedly into the room,
crying, "Aha, mine Bonker! I haf disgovered zomzing!" and then he stopped
in some surprise. "Ello, vat make you, my vriend?"

His friend, in fact, seemed to be somewhat singularly employed. Through a
dense cloud of tobacco-smoke you could just pick him out of the depths of
an armchair, his feet resting on the mantelpiece, while his lap and all
the floor round about were covered with immense books. The Baron's
curiosity was still further excited by observing that they consisted
principally of a London and a St Egbert's directory, several volumes of a
Dictionary of National Biography, and one or two peerages and county
family compilations.

He looked up with a smile. "You may well wonder, my dear Baron. The fact
is, I am looking for a name."

"A name! vat name?"

"Alas! if I knew what it was I should stop looking, and I confess I'm
rather sick of the job."

"Vich vay do you look, zen?"

"Simply by wading my way through all the lists of names I could steal or
borrow. It's devilish dry work."

"Ze name of a vriend, is it?"

"Yes; but I'm afraid I must wait till it comes. And what is this
discovery, Baron? A petticoat, I presume. After all, they are the only
things worth finding," and he shut the books one after another.

"A petticoat with ze fairest girl inside it!" exclaimed the Baron,
rapturously.

"Your eyes seem to have been singularly penetrating, Baron. Was she dark
or fair, tall or short, fat or slender, widow, wife, or maid?"

"Fair, viz blue eyes, short pairhaps but not too short, slender as
a--a--drom-stick, and I vould say a maid; at least I see vun stout old lady
mit her, mozzer and daughter I soppose."

"And did this piece of perfection seem to appreciate you?"

"Vy should I know? Zey are ze real ladies and pairtend not to see me, bot
I zink zey notice me all ze same. Not 'lady vriends,' Bonker, ha, ha, ha!"

Mr Bunker laughed with reminiscent amusement, and inquired, "And how did
the romance end--in a cab, Baron?"

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Baron; "better zan zat, Bonker--moch better!"

Mr Bunker raised his eyebrows.

"It's hardly the time of year for a romance to end in a bathing-machine.
You followed the divinity to her rented heaven, perhaps?"

The Baron bent forward and answered in a stage whisper, "Zey live in zis
hotel, Bonker!"

"Then I can only wish you joy, Baron, and if my funds allow me, send her a
wedding present."

"Ach, not quite so fast, my vriend! I am not caught so easy."

"My dear fellow, a week at close quarters is sufficient to net any man."

"Ven I marry," replied the Baron, "moch most be considered. A von
Blitzenberg does not mate viz every vun."

"A good many families have made the same remark, but one does not always
meet the fathers-in-law."

"Ha, ha! ve shall see. Bot, Bonker, she is lofly!"

The Baron awaited dinner with even more than his usual ardour. He dressed
with the greatest care, and at an absurdly early hour was already urging
his friend to come down and take their places. Indeed after a time there
was no withholding him, and they finally took their seats in the
dining-room before anybody else.

At what seemed to the impatient Baron unconscionably long intervals a few
people dropped in and began to study their menus and glance with an air of
uncomfortable suspicion at their neighbours.

"I vonder vill she gom," he said three or four times at least.

"Console yourself, my dear Baron," his friend would reply; "they always
come. That's seldom the difficulty."

And the Baron would dally with his victuals in the most unwonted fashion,
and growl at the rapidity with which the courses followed one another.

"Do zey suppose ve vish to eat like----?" he began, and then laying his hand
on his friend's sleeve, he whispered, "She goms!"

Mr Bunker turned his head just in time to see in the doorway the Countess
of Grillyer and the Lady Alicia a Fyre.

"Is she not fair?" asked the Baron, excitedly.

"I entirely approve of your taste, Baron. I have only once seen any one
quite like her before."

With a gratified smile the Baron filled his glass, while his friend seemed
amused by some humorous reflection of his own.

The Lady Alicia and her mother had taken their seats at a table a little
way off, and at first their eyes never happened to turn in the direction
of the two friends. But at last, after looking at the ceiling, the carpet,
the walls, the other people, everything else in the room it seemed, Lady
Alicia's glance fell for an instant on the Baron. That nobleman looked as
interesting as a mouthful of roast duck would permit him, but the glance
passed serenely on to Mr Bunker. For a moment it remained serene; suddenly
it became startled and puzzled, and at that instant Mr Bunker turned his
own eyes full upon her, smiled slightly, and raised his glass to his lips.

The glance fell, and the Lady Alicia blushed down to the diamonds in her
necklace.

The Baron insisted on lingering over his dinner till the charmer was
finished, and so by a fortuitous coincidence they left the room
immediately behind the Countess. The Baron passed them in the passage, and
a few yards farther he looked round for his friend, and the Countess
turned to look for her daughter.

They saw Lady Alicia following with an intensely unconscious expression,
while Mr Bunker was in the act of returning to the dining-room.

"I wanted to secure a table for breakfast," he explained.

CHAPTER II.

The Baron was in high hopes of seeing the fair unknown at breakfast, but
it seemed she must be either breakfasting in her own room or lying long
abed.

"I think I shall go out for a little constitutional," said Mr Bunker, when
he had finished. "I suppose the hotel has a stronger attraction for you."

"Ach, yes, I shall remain," his friend replied. "Pairhaps I may see zem."

"Take care then, Baron!"

"I shall not propose till you return, Bonker!"

"No," said Mr Bunker to himself, "I don't think you will."

Just outside St Egbert's there is a high breezy sweep of downs, falling
suddenly to a chalky seaward cliff. It overlooks the town and the
undulating inland country and a great spread of shining sea; and even
without a spy-glass you can see sail after sail and smoke-wreath after
smoke-wreath go by all day long.

But Mr Bunker had apparently walked there for other reasons than to see
the view. He did stop once or twice, but it was only to scan the downs
ahead, and at the sight of a fluttering skirt he showed no interest in
anything else, but made a straight line for its owner. For her part, the
lady seemed to await his coming. She gathered her countenance into an
expression of as perfect unconcern as a little heightening of her colour
would allow her, and returned his salute with rather a distant bow. But Mr
Bunker was not to be damped by this hint of barbed wire. He held out his
hand and exclaimed cordially, "My dear Lady Alicia! this is charming of
you!"

"Of course you understand, Mr Beveridge, it's only----"

"Perfectly," he interrupted, gaily; "I understand everything I should and
nothing I shouldn't. In fact, I have altered little, except in the
trifling matter of a beard, a moustache or two, and, by the way, a name."

"A name?"

"I am now Francis Bunker, but as much at your service as ever."

"But why--I mean, have you really changed your name?"

"Circumstances have changed it, just as circumstances shaved me."

Lady Alicia made a great endeavour to look haughty. "I do not quite
understand, Mr----"

"Bunker--a temporary title, but suggestive, and simple for the tradesmen."

"I do not understand your conduct. Why have you changed your name?"

"Why not?"

This retort was so evidently unanswerable that Lady Alicia changed her
inquiry.

"Where have you been?"

"Till yesterday, in London."

"Then you didn't go to your own parish?" she demanded, reproachfully.

"There were difficulties," he replied; "in fact, a certified lunatic is
not in great demand as a parish priest. They seem to prefer them
uncertified."

"But didn't you try?"

"Hard, but it was no use. The bishop was out of town, and I had to wait
till his return; besides, my position was somewhat insecure. I have had at
least two remarkable escapes since I saw you last."

"Are you safe here?" she asked, hurriedly.

"With your consent, yes."

She looked a little troubled. "I don't know that I am doing right, Mr
Bev--Bunker, but----"

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