CHAPTER VIII.
"This w'y, sir," said the maid, and Mr Bunker found himself in the littleroom where this story opened.
The moment he was alone he went to the window and peeped cautiouslybetween the slats of the venetian blind.
The street was quiet, both cabs had disappeared, and for a minute or twohe could see nothing even of Moggridge. Then a figure moved carefully fromthe shelter of a bush a little way down the railings, and, after a quicklook at the house, stepped back again.
"He means to play the waiting game," said Mr Bunker to himself. "Long mayyou wait, my wary Moggridge!"
He took a rapid survey of the room. He saw the medical library, the rentedfurniture, and the unlit gas-stove; and at last his eye fell upon a box ofcigarettes. To one of these he helped himself and leaned his back againstthe mantelpiece.
"There must be at least one room at the back," he reflected; "that roommust have a window, and beyond that window there is all London to turn to.Friend Moggridge, I trust you are prepared to spend the evening behindyour bush."
He had another look through the blind and shook his head.
"A little too light yet,--I'd better wait for a quarter of an hour or so."
To while away the time he proceeded to make a tour of the room, for, as hesaid to himself, when in an unknown country any information may possiblycome in useful. There was nothing whatever from which he could draw eventhe most superficial deduction till he came to the writing-desk. Here aheap of bills were transfixed by a long skewer, and at his first glance atthe uppermost his face assumed an expression of almost ludicrousbewilderment. He actually rubbed his eyes before he looked a second time.
"One dozen shirts," he read, "four under-flannels, four pair socks, onedozen handkerchiefs, two sleeping-suits--marked Francis Beveridge! theaccount rendered to Dr G. Twiddel! What in the name of wonderment is themeaning 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 outlaughing, resumed in a moment his air of philosophical opportunism, andset about a further search of the desk. He looked at the bills and seemedto find nothing more to interest him. Then he glanced at one or twoletters in the drawers, threw the first few back again, and at last pausedover one.
"Twiddel to Billson," he said to himself. "This may possibly be worthlooking 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 splendidform, 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. Butthen old Welsh is so funny when he is drunk that it makes him all the morelike 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 toomany English. This is quite an amusing place for a German town, some bathsand a kind of a gambling-table, and some pretty girls--for Germans. Thereis a sporting aristocrat here, in an old castle, who is very friendly, andis much impressed with Welsh's account of his family plate anddeer-forest, and has asked us once or twice to come out and see him. Weare 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," hereflected; "there are elements of mystery and a general atmosphere ofalcohol 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 righthand 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 enteredboldly. It was quite dark. He closed the door again softly, struck amatch, and looked round the room. It seemed to be Dr Twiddel's dining- andsitting-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 ofback-garden. For a minute he listened intently, but no sound came from thehouse. Then he threw up the sash and scrambled out. It was quite dark bythis time: he was enclosed between two rows of vague, black houses, withbright windows here and there, and chimney-cans faintly cutting theiruncouth designs among a few pale London stars. The space between wasfilled with the two lines of little gardens and the ranks of walls, and inthe middle the black chasm of a railway cutting.
A frightened cat bolted before him as he hurried down to the foot of thestrip, but that was all the life he saw. He looked over the wall rightinto the deep crevasse. A little way off, on the one hand, hung a clusterof signal-lights, and the shining rails reflected them all along to themouth of a tunnel on the other. Turning his head this way and that, therewas 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-walkalong this wall, and a descent into the cutting," he reflected. "The wallslook devilish high and the cutting devilish deep. Hang me if I know whichroad to take."
While he was still debating this somewhat perplexing question, he felt theground begin to quiver under him. Through the hum of London theregradually arose a louder roar, and in a minute the head-lights of anengine flashed out of the tunnel. One after another a string of brightcarriages followed it, each more slowly than the carriage in front, tillthe whole train was at a standstill below him with the red signal-lampagainst it.
In an instant his decision was taken. At the peril of life and garments hescrambled down the rocky bank, picking as he went an empty first-classcompartment, and just as the train began to move again he swung himself upand sprang into a carriage.
Unfortunately he had chosen the wrong one in his haste, and as he openedthe door he saw a comical vision of a stout little old gentleman huddlinginto 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 instantlycommunicate 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 tooffer a loan."
He sat down and smiled amicably, but the little gentleman was not to bequieted so easily. Seeing that no violence was apparently intended, hisfright changed into respectable indignation.
"You needn't try to be funny with me, sir. You are committing an illegalact. You have placed yourself in an uncommonly serious position, sir."
"Indeed, sir?" replied Mr Bunker. "I myself should have imagined that byremaining 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 biteif it only dared.
"What is the meaning of this illegal intrusion?" he demanded. "Who areyou? Where did you come from?"
"I had the misfortune, sir," explained Mr Bunker, politely, "to drop myhat out of the window of a neighbouring carriage. While I was picking itup the train started, and I had to enter the first compartment I couldfind. I am sorry that my entry frightened you."
"Frightened me!" spluttered the old gentleman. "I am not afraid, sir. I aman honest man who need fear no one, sir. I do not believe you dropped yourhat. It is perfectly uninjured."
"It may be news to you, sir," replied Mr Bunker, "that by gently yetfirmly passing the sleeve of your coat round your hat in the direction ofthe nap, it is possible to restore the glos
s. Thus," and suiting theaction 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 merelygrowls at blandishments. He snorted and replied testily, "That is all verywell, sir, but I don't believe a word of it."
"If you prefer it, then, I fell off the telegraph wires in an attempt torecover my boots."
The old gentleman became purple in the face.
"Have a care, sir! I am a director of this company, and at the nextstation I shall see that you give a proper account of yourself. And herewe are, sir. I trust you have a more credible story in readiness."
As he spoke they drew up beside an underground platform, and the irascibleold gentleman, with a very threatening face that was not yet quite clearedof alarm, bustled out in a prodigious hurry. Mr Bunker lay back in hisseat and replied with a smile, "I shall be delighted to tell any storywithin the bounds of strict propriety."
But the moment he saw the irate director disappear in the crowd he whippedout too, and with the least possible delay transferred himself into athird-class carriage.
From his seat near the window he watched the old gentleman hurry back withthree officials at his heels, and hastily search each first-classcompartment in turn. The last one was so near him that he could hear hisfriend say, "Damn it, the rascal has bolted in the crowd!" And with thatthe four of them rushed off to the barrier to intercept or pursue thissuspicious character. Then the whistle blew, and as the train moved off MrBunker remarked complacently, if a little mysteriously, to himself, "Well,whoever I am, it would seem I'm rather difficult to catch."
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