CHAPTER I.
The Dover express was nearing town: evening had begun to draw in, and fromthe wayside houses people saw the train roar by like a huge glowworm; butthey could hardly guess that it was hurrying two real actors to the climaxof a real comedy.
From the opposite sides of a first-class carriage these two lookedcheerfully at one another. The Channel was safely behind them, London wasclose 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.
"I'm only sorry it's all over," Welsh went on, gazing regretfully up atthe lamp of the carriage. "I'd give the remains of my character and mychance of a public funeral to be starting again from Paris by the morningtrain!"
Twiddel laughed.
"With the same head you had that morning?"
"Yes, by George! Even with the same mile of dusty gullet!"
"It's all over now," said Twiddel, philosophically, and yet rathernervously--"at least the amusing part of it."
"All the fun, my boy, all the fun. All the dinners and the drinks, and thetouching of hats to the aristocratic travellers, and the girls thatsighed, and the bowing and scraping. Do you remember the sporting baronetwho knew my uncle? Now, I'm plain Robert Welsh, whose uncles, as far as Iam aware, don't know a baronet among 'em."
He smiled a little sardonically.
"And the baron at Fogelschloss," said Twiddel.
"Who insisted on learning my pedigree back to Alfred the Great! Gad, Igave it him, though, and I doubt whether the real Essington could havedone as much. I'd rather surprise some of these noblemen if I turned upagain in my true character!"
"Thank the Lord, we're not likely to meet them again!" exclaimed thedoctor, devoutly.
"No," said Welsh; "here endeth the second lesson."
His friend, who had been well brought up, looked a trifle uncomfortable atthis quotation.
"I say," he remarked a few minutes later, "we haven't finished yet. We'vegot to get the man out again, and hand him back to his friends."
"Cured," said Welsh, with a laugh.
"I wonder how he is?"
"We'll soon see."
They fell silent again, while the train hurried nearer and nearer Londontown. Welsh seemed to be musing on some nice point, it might be ofconscience, it might also conceivably be of a more practical texture. Atlast he said, "There's just one thing, old man. What about the fee?"
"I'll get a cheque for it, I suppose," his friend replied, with an almostexcessive air of mastery over the problem.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Welsh; "you know what I mean. It's a delicate questionand all that, but, hang it, it's got to be answered."
"What has?"
"The division of the spoil."
Twiddel looked dignified.
"I'll see you get your share, old man," he answered, easily.
"But what share?"
"You suggested L100, I think."
"Out of L500--when I've done all the deceiving and told all the lies! Come,old man!"
"Well, what do you want?"
"Do you remember a certain crisis when we'd made a slip----"
"You'd made a slip!"
"_We_ had made a slip, and you wanted to chuck the game and bolt? Do youremember also the terms I proposed when I offered to beard the local godalmighty in his lair and explain it all away, and how he became our bosompal and we were saved?"
"Well?"
"L300 to me, L200 to you," said Welsh, decisively.
"Rot, old man. I'll share fairly, if you insist. L250 apiece, will thatdo?"
Welsh said nothing, but his face was no longer the countenance of thejovial adventurer.
"It will have to, I suppose," he replied, at length.
It was with this little cloud on the horizon that they saw the lights ofLondon twinkle through the windows, and were carried into the clamour ofthe platforms.
They both drove first to Twiddel's rooms; and as they looked out once moreon the life and lights and traffic of the streets, their faces clearedagain.
"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 backroom, and the table laid.
"Ah," cried Welsh, "this looks devilish comfortable."
"A letter for me," said Twiddel; "from Billson, I think."
He read it and threw it to his friend, remarking, "I call this rather coolof him."
Welsh read--
"DEAR GEORGE,--I am just off for three weeks' holiday. Sorry for leavingyour practice, but I think it can look after itself till you return.
"You have only had two patients, and one fee between them. The second manvanished mysteriously. I shall tell you about it when I come back. Heboned a bill, too, I fancy, but the story will keep.
"I am looking forward to hearing the true tale of your adventures. Goodluck to you.--Yours ever,
THOMAS BILLSON."
"Boned a bill?" exclaimed Welsh. "What bill, I wonder?"
"Something that came when I was away, I suppose. Hang it, I think Billsonmight have looked after things better!"
"It sounds queer," said Welsh, reflectively; "I wonder what it was?"
"Confound Billson, he might have told me," observed the doctor. "But, Isay, you know we have something more practical to see to."
"Getting the man out again?"
"Yes."
"Well, let's have a little grub first."
Twiddel rang the bell, and the frowsy little maid entered, carrying aletter on a tray.
"Dinner," said he.
"Please, sir," began the maid, holding out the tray, "this come for younear a month agow, but Missis she bin and forgot to send it hafter you."
"Confound her!" said Twiddel, taking the letter.
He looked at the envelope, and remarked with a little start of nervousexcitement, "From Dr Congleton."
"News of Mr Beveridge," laughed Welsh.
The doctor read the first few lines, and then, as if he had got anelectric shock, the letter fell from his hand, and an expression of themost utter and lively consternation came over his face.
"Heavens!" he ejaculated, "it's all up."
"What's up?" cried Welsh, snatching at the letter.
"He's run away!"
Welsh looked at him for a moment in some astonishment, and then burst outlaughing.
"What a joke!" he cried; "I don't see anything to make a fuss about. We'rejolly well rid of him."
"The fee! I won't get a penny till I bring him back. And the whole thingwill be found out!"
As the full meaning of this predicament burst upon Welsh, his faceunderwent a change by no means pleasant to watch. For a full minute heswore, and then an ominous silence fell upon the room.
Twiddel was the first to recover himself.
"Let me see the letter," he said; "I haven't finished it."
Welsh read it aloud--
"DEAR TWIDDEL,--I regret to inform you that the patient, Francis Beveridge,whom you placed under my care, has escaped from Clankwood. We have madeevery inquiry consistent with strict privacy, but unfortunately have notyet been able to lay our hands upon him. We only know that he leftAshditch Junction in the London express, and was seen walking out of StEuston's Cross. How he has been able to maintain himself in concealmentwithout money or clothes, I am unable to imagine.
"As no inquiries have been made for him by his cousin Mr Welsh, or anyother of his friends or relatives, I am writing to you that you may informthem, and I hope that this lett
er may follow you abroad without delay. Imay add that the circumstances of his escape showed most unusual cunning,and could not possibly have been guarded against.
"Trusting that you are having a pleasant holiday, I am, yours very truly,
ADOLPHUS S. CONGLETON."
The two looked at one another in silence for a minute, and then Welshsaid, fiercely, "You must catch him again, Twiddel. Do you think I amgoing to have all my risk and trouble for nothing?"
"_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 therecklessness 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, "Youneed a drink, old man. Let's hurry up that slavey."
With the first course their countenances cleared a little, with the secondthey were almost composed, by the end of dinner they had startedplot-hatching hopefully again.
"It's any odds on the man's still being in town," said Welsh. "He had nomoney or clothes, and evidently he hasn't gone to any of his friends, orthe whole story would have been out. Now, there is nowhere where a man canlie low so well, especially if he is hard up, as London. I can answer fromexperience. He is hardly likely to be in the West End, or the best classof suburbs, so we've something to go upon at once. We must go to a privateinquiry office and put men on his track, and then we must take the town inbeats ourselves. So much is clear; do you see?"
"And hadn't we better find out whether anything more is known atClankwood?" suggested Twiddel. "Dr Congleton wrote a month ago; perhapsthey have caught him by this time."
"Hardly likely, I'm afraid; he'd have written to you if they had. Still,we can but ask."
"But, I say!" the doctor suddenly exclaimed, "people may find out that I'mback without him."
Welsh was equal to the emergency.
"You must leave again at once," he said decisively, rising from the table;"and there's no good wasting time, either."
"What do you mean?" asked the bewildered doctor, who had not yetassimilated the criminal point of view.
"We'll put our luggage straight on to a cab, drive off to other rooms--Iknow a cheap place that will do--and if by any chance inquiries are made,people must be told that you are still abroad. Nobody must hear of yourcoming home to-night."
"Is it----" began Twiddel, dubiously.
"Is it what?" snapped his friend.
"Is it worth it?"
"Is L500, not to speak of two reputations, worth it! Come on!"
The unfortunate doctor sighed, and rose too. He was beginning to thinkthat the nefarious acquisition of fees might have drawbacks after all.
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