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. [pg 127] 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?”