“I am anxious to,” replied Mr Bunker, “but a public restaurant is not the place in which I choose to give it.”
“Fetch the cab and the policeman,” said Welsh to a waiter.
At this moment another gentleman entered the room, and at the sight of him Mr Bunker’s face brightened, and he stopped the waiter by a cry of, “Wait one moment; here comes a gentleman who knows me.”
Everybody turned, and beheld a burly, very fashionably dressed young man, with a fair moustache and a cheerful countenance.
“Ach, Bonker!” he cried.
This confirmation of Mr Bunker’s aliases ought, one would expect, to have delighted the two conspirators, but, instead, it produced the most remarkable effect. Twiddel utterly collapsed, while even Welsh’s impudence at last deserted him. Neither said a word as the Baron von Blitzenberg greeted his friend with affectionate heartiness.
“My friend, zis is good for ze heart! Bot, how? vat makes it here?”
“My dear Baron, the most unfortunate mistake has occurred. Two men here——” But at this moment he stopped in great surprise, for the Baron was staring hard first at Welsh and then at Twiddel.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “Mr Mandell-Essington, I zink?”
Welsh hesitated for an instant, and his hesitation was evident to all. Then he replied, “No, you are mistaken.”