The Lunatic at Large Part 15

The sun was already obscured; there stole a most insidious chill through the air; like the changing of a scene on the stage they found themselves in a few minutes walking in a little ring of trees and road and iron railings instead of a wide sunny park; the roar of the streets came from behind a wall of mist that opened mysteriously to let a phantom carriage in and out, and closed silently behind it again.

"I like not zis," said the Baron, with a shiver.

By the time they had found Piccadilly again there was nothing at all to be seen but the light of the nearest lamp, as large and far away as a struggling sun, and the shadowy people who flitted by.

Their talk ceased. The Baron turned up his collar and sucked his cigar lugubriously, and Mr Bunker seemed unusually thoughtful. They had walked nearly as far as Piccadilly Circus when they were pulled up by a cab turning down a side-street. There was a lamp-post at the corner, and under it stood a burly man, his red face quite visible as they came up to his shoulder.

In an instant Mr Bunker seized the Baron by the arm, pulled him round, and began to walk hastily back again.

"Vat for zis?" said the Baron, in great astonishment.

"We have come too far, thanks to this infernal fog. We must cross the street and take the first turning on the other side. I must apologise, Baron, for my absence of mind."

The cab pa.s.sed by and the red-faced man strolled on.

"Like lookin' for a needle in a bloomin' haystack," he said to himself. "I might as well go back to Clankwood. 'E's a good riddance, I say."

CHAPTER IV.

The Baron and Mr Bunker discussed their dinner with the relish of approving connoisseurs. Mr Bunker commended the hock, and suggested a second bottle; the Baron praised the _entrees_, and insisted on another helping. The frequent laughter arising from their table excited general remark throughout the room, and already the waiters were whispering to the other guests that this was a German n.o.bleman of royal blood engaged in a diplomatic mission of importance, and his friend a ducal member of the English Cabinet, at present, for reasons of state, incognito.

"Bonker!" exclaimed the Baron, "I am in zat frame of head I vant a romance, an adventure" (lowering his voice a little), "mit a beautiful lady, Bonker."

"It must be a romance, Baron?"

"A novel, a story to tell to mine frients. In a strange city man expects strange zings."

"Well, I'll do my best for you, but I confess the provision of romantic adventures is a little outside the programme we've arranged."

"Ha, ha! Ve shall see, ve shall see, Bonker!"

They arrived at the Corinthian Theatre about the middle of the first act, for, as Mr Bunker explained, it is always well to produce a good first impression, and few more effective means can be devised than working one's way to the middle of a line of stalls with the play already in progress.

Hardly were they seated when the Baron drove his elbow into his friend's ribs (draped for the night, it may be remarked, with one of the Baron's spare dress-coats) and exclaimed in an excited whisper, "Next to you, Bonker! Ach, zehr hupsch!"

Even before this hint Mr Bunker had observed that the lady on the other side of him was possessed of exceptional attractions. For a little time he studied her out of the corners of his eyes. He noticed that the stall on the farther side of her was empty, that she once or twice looked round as though she expected somebody, and that she seemed not altogether unconscious of her new neighbours. He further observed that her face was of a type that is more usually engaged in attack than defence.

Then he whispered, "Would you like to know her?"

"Ach, yah!" replied the Baron, eagerly. "Bot-can you?"

Mr Bunker smiled confidently. A few minutes later he happened to let his programme fall into her lap.

"I beg your pardon," he whispered, softly, and glanced into her eyes with a smile ready.

His usual discernment had not failed him. She smiled, and instantly he produced his.

A little later her opera-gla.s.ses happened to slip from her hand, and though they only slipped slowly, it was no doubt owing to his ready presence of mind that their fall was averted.

This time their fingers happened to touch, and they smiled without an apology.

He leant towards her, looking, however, at the play. They shared a laugh over a joke that she might have been excused for not understanding; presently a criticism of some situation escaped him inadvertently, and she smiled again; soon after she gave an exclamation and he answered sympathetically, and at the end of the act the curtain came down on an acquaintance already begun. As the lights were turned up, and here and there men began to go out, she again looked at the entrances in some apparent concern, either lest some one should not come in or lest some one should.

"He is late," said Mr Bunker, smiling.

She gave a very enticing look of surprise, and consented to smile back before she coyly looked away again.

"An erring husband, I presume."

She admitted that it was in fact a husband who had failed her.

"But," she added, "I'm afraid-I mean I expect he'll come in after the next act. It's so tiresome of him to disappoint me like this."

Mr Bunker expressed the deepest sympathy with her unfortunate predicament.

"He has his ticket, of course?"

But it seemed that she had both the tickets with her, an arrangement which he immediately denounced as likely to lead to difficulties when her husband arrived. He further, in the most obliging manner, suggested that he should take the ticket for the other seat to the booking office and leave instructions for its being given to the gentleman on his arrival.

The lady gave him a curious little glance that seemed to imply a mixture of doubt as to his motives with confidence in his abilities, and then with many thanks agreed to his suggestion. Mr Bunker took the ticket and rose at once.

"That I may be sure you are in good company while I am away," said he, "permit me to introduce my friend the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg."

And the Baron promptly took his vacant seat.

On his return Mr Bunker found his friend wreathed in smiles and engaged in the most animated conversation with the lady, and before the last act was over, he gathered from such sc.r.a.ps of conversation as reached his ears that Rudolph von Blitzenberg had little to learn in one department of a n.o.bleman's duties.

"I wonder where my husband can be," the lady whispered.

"Ach, heed him not, fair lady," replied the Baron. "Am I not instead of a hosband?"

"I'm afraid you're a very naughty man, Baron."

"Ven I am viz you," the gallant Baron answered, "I forget myself all bot your charms."

These advances being made in the most dulcet tones of which the n.o.bleman was master, and accompanied by the most enamoured expression, it is not surprising that the lady permitted herself to listen to them with perhaps too ready an ear. What Mr Bunker's arrangement with the booking clerk had been was never quite clear, but certainly the erring husband failed to make his appearance at all, and at the last fall of the curtain she was easily persuaded to let the Baron escort her home.

"I know I ought not, but if a husband deserts one so faithlessly, what can I do?" she said, with a very becoming little shrug of her shoulders and a captivating lift of her eyebrows.

"Ah, vat indeed? He desairves not so fair a consort."

"But won't it be troubling you?"