Your friend. Wal, he _is_ a Frenchy,
an' he's crazy, as I'm prepared to prove. But I don't want no trouble
with him. He's my neighbour, and there ought to be nothin' between me
an' him."

"There'll always be a barbed wire fence," said Ajax.

"Boys, when that ther' pond o' the Baron's tuk to smellin' like dead
cats, he come to me and asks me to find someone to take keer o' the
bungalow. I undertook the job myself. I was to water them foreign
plants o' his, do odd chores, and sleep in the house nights. He
offered good pay, and I got a few dollars on account. I aimed to treat
the Baron right, as I treat all my neighbours. I meant to do more,
more than was agreed on. That's the right sperit--ain't it? Yas. An'
so, when I found out that there was a room in that ther' bungalow
locked up, by mistake as I presoomed, and that the key o' the little
parlour opened it, why, naterally, boys, I jest peaked in to see if
everything was O.K. As for pryin' and spyin', why sech an idee never
entered my head. Wal, I peaked in an' I saw----"

"Hold on," said Ajax. "What you saw is something which the Baron
wished to be kept secret."

"I reckon so, though why in thunder----"

"Then keep it secret----"

"But, mercy sakes! I saw nothing, not a thing, boys, save two picters
and a few old sticks of furniture. An' seeing that things was O.K., I
shet the door, but doggone it! the cussed key wouldn't lock it. Nex'
morning the Baron found it open, and, Jeeroosalem! I never seen a man
git so mad."

"And that's all?"

"That's all, but me an' the Baron ain't speakin'."

We promised to do what we could, more, it must be confessed, on the
Baron's account than for the sake of old man Dumble. Accordingly, we
tried to persuade the Baron that his secret at any rate was still
inviolate. He listened incredulously.

"He says he saw nothing--but some pictures and old furniture."

"_Mon Dieu!_ an' zey tell 'im nossing. _Saperlipopette!_
Come wiz me. I can trust you. You shall know my secret, too."

We followed him in silence up the path which led to the bungalow, and
into the house. The Baron unlocked a door and unbolted some shutters.
We saw two portraits, splendid portraits of two handsome young men in
uniform. Above the mantelpiece hung an emblazoned pedigree: the
family tree of the Bourgueil-Crotanoy, peers of France. The Baron laid
a lean finger upon one of the names.

"I am Rene de Bourgueil-Crotanoy," he said.

We waited. When he spoke a