“Alas, sir,” said Dick, “all that I can offer to do is to bear testimony to the truth of any inaccuracy you may find needful.”
“Whatever story we may invent, it will not be believed in Bath—so much is certain,” said Mr. Long.
“I begin to think that, after all, we might as well tell the truth,” said Dick.
“What! you think the case is so desperate as all that?” said Mr. Long.
“There is no better way of mystifying people than by telling the truth, especially when it sounds improbable,” said Dick.
“I give you my word, Mr. Sheridan, you seem to speak with the authority of one who had tried what you suggest. Perhaps you may, under the stress of circumstances, have been led into the tortuous paths of the truth. Well, I think that, on the whole, we had better brazen the matter out, and give all Bath a chance of disbelieving us. But if we do so, we must also be prepared with a story to account for our being on the road at so late an hour. Ah, you will find, Mr. Sheridan, that telling the truth necessitates a great deal of tergiversation.”
“I must confess, sir,” said Dick, “I could scarcely hope to be believed if I were to make the attempt to account for my midnight walk on the simple ground of the fineness of the night.”
“It would certainly be thought a very weak plea. Thank Heaven if I say that I supped at Mr. Lambton’s and thought it prudent to have a stroll afterwards, I will be believed—at any rate, by such as know that Mr. Lambton has a French cook.”
“Then I think it would be as well if we were to make an agreement not to mention my name in connection with the assault upon you; that will save the need for my thinking out a moderately plausible story to account for my presence on the scene.”