s chill through
the air; like the changing of a scene on the stage they found themselves
in a few minutes walking in a little ring of trees and road and iron
railings instead of a wide sunny park; the roar of the streets came from
behind a wall of mist that opened mysteriously to let a phantom carriage
in and out, and closed silently behind it again.

"I like not zis," said the Baron, with a shiver.

By the time they had found Piccadilly again there was nothing at all to be
seen but the light of the nearest lamp, as large and far away as a
struggling sun, and the shadowy people who flitted by.

Their talk ceased. The Baron turned up his collar and sucked his cigar
lugubriously, and Mr Bunker seemed unusually thoughtful. They had walked
nearly as far as Piccadilly Circus when they were pulled up by a cab
turning down a side-street. There was a lamp-post at the corner, and under
it stood a burly man, his red face quite visible as they came up to his
shoulder.

In an instant Mr Bunker seized the Baron by the arm, pulled him round, and
began to walk hastily back again.

"Vat for zis?" said the Baron, in great astonishment.

"We have come too far, thanks to this infernal fog. We must cross the
street and take the first turning on the other side. I must apologise,
Baron, for my absence of mind."

* * * * *

The cab passed by and the red-faced man strolled on.

"Like lookin' for a needle in a bloomin' haystack," he said to himself. "I
might as well go back to Clankwood. 'E's a good riddance, I say."

CHAPTER IV.

The Baron and Mr Bunker discussed their dinner with the relish of
approving connoisseurs. Mr Bunker commended the hock, and suggested a
second bottle; the Baron praised the _entrees_, and insisted on another
helping. The frequent laughter arising from their table excited general
remark throughout the room, and already the waiters were whispering to the
other guests that this was a German nobleman of royal blood engaged in a
diplomatic mission of importance, and his friend a ducal member of the
English Cabinet, at present, for reasons of state, incognito.

"Bonker!" exclaimed the Baron, "I am in zat frame of head I vant a
romance, an adventure" (lowering his voice a little), "mit a beautiful
lady, Bonker."

"It must be a romance, Baron?"

"A novel, a story to tell to mine frients. In a strange city man expects
strange zings."

"We