tation in anything but
an amiable frame of mind. There, to his great annoyance and surprise, he
found no signs of Sir Richard's carriage; there were no stables near, and,
after fuming for some time on the platform, he was forced to leave his
luggage with the station-master and proceed on foot to Brierley Park.

He arrived shortly before seven o'clock, after a dark and muddy tramp,
and, still swearing under his breath, pulled the bell with indignant
energy.

"I am ze Baron von Blitzenberg, bot zere vas no carriage at ze station,"
he informed the butler in his haughtiest tones.

The man looked at him suspiciously.

"The Baron arrived this morning," he said.

"Ze Baron? Vat Baron? I am ze Baron!"

"I shall fetch Sir Richard," said the butler, turning away.

Presently a stout florid gentleman, accompanied by three friends, all
evidently very curious and amused about something, came to the door, and,
to the poor Baron's amazement and horror, he recognised in one of these
none other than Mr Bunker, arrayed with much splendour in his own ornate
shooting suit.

"What do you want?" asked the florid gentleman, sternly.

"Have I ze pleasure of addressing Sir Richard Brierley?" inquired the
Baron, raising his hat and bowing profoundly.

"You have."

"Zen I must tell you zat I am ze Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg."

"Gom, gom, my man!" interposed Mr Bunker. "I know you. Zis man, Sir
Richard, has before annoyed me. He is vat you call impostor, cracked; he
has vollowed me from Germany. Go avay, man!"

"You are impostor! You scoundrel, Bonker!" shouted the wrathful Baron. "He
is no Baron, Sir Richard! Ha! Vould you again deceive me, Bonker?"

"You must lock him up, I fear," said Mr Bunker. "To-morrow, my man, you
vill see ze police."

So completely did the Baron lose his head that he became almost
inarticulate with rage: his protestations, however, were not of the
slightest avail. That morning Sir Richard had received a wire informing
him that the Baron was coming by an earlier train than he had originally
intended, and, since his arrival, the spurious nobleman had so ingratiated
himself with his host that Sir Richard was filled with nothing but
sympathy for him in his persecution. After a desperate struggle the
unfortunate Rudolph was overpowered and conveyed in the undignified
fashion known as the frog's march to a room in a remote wing, there to
pass the night under lock and key.

"The scoundrelly German impostor!