“I have heard,” said he, in short, harsh tones, “since I came to London, nosing but good of Mr. Longcluse. I have ze greadest respect for zat excellent gendleman. I will say nosing bud zat—ze greadest respect.”
“You knew him in Paris, I believe?” urges Uncle David.
“Nosing but zat—ze greadest respect,” repeats the baron. “I sink him a very worzy gendleman.”
“No doubt, but I venture to ask whether you were acquainted with Mr. Longcluse in Paris?”
“Zere are a gread many beoble in Paris. I have nosing to say of Mr. Longcluse, nosing ad all, only he is a man of high rebudation.”
And on completing this sentence the baron replaced his pipe, and delivered several rapid puffs.
“I took the liberty of enclosing a letter from a friend explaining who I am, and that the questions I should entreat you to answer are not prompted by any idle or impertinent curiosity; perhaps, then, you would be so good as to say whether you know anything of a person named Yelland Mace, who visited Paris some twenty years since?”
“I am in London, Sir, ubon my business, and no one else's. I am sinking of myself, and not about Mace or Longcluse, and I will not speak about eizer of zem. I am well baid for my dime. I will nod waste my dime on dalking—I will nod,” he continues, warming as he proceeds; “nosing shall induce me do say one word aboud zoze gendlemen. I dake my oas I'll not, mein Gott! What do you mean by asking me aboud zem?”
He looks positively ferocious as he delivers this expostulation.
“My request must be more unreasonable than it appeared to me.”