Amusement Only Part 18

The darkness, the rumbling, and the shaking ceased as suddenly as they began. The prisoner smiled.

"Perhaps I was too hasty," he confessed. "It is an error which can easily be rectified."

He raised his hand. A piece of paper fluttered from the ceiling. It fell upon the table. It was the testimonial.

"Your signature, Major Hardinge, should head the list."

"I--I--I'd rather somebody else signed first."

"That would never do: it is for you to lead the van. You are free to leave your seat."

The Major left his seat, apparently not rejoicing in his freedom. He wrote "William Hardinge" in great sprawling characters.

"Add 'Inspector of Prisons.'"

The Major added "Inspector of Prisons," with a very rueful countenance.

"Mr. Paley, it is your turn."

Mr. Paley took his turn, with a really tolerable imitation of being both ready and willing. Acting on the hint which had been given the Major, he added "Governor" of his own accord.

"Now, doctor, it is you."

The doctor thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets. "I'll sign, if you'll tell me how it is done."

"Tell you how it is done? How what is done?"

"How you do that hanky-panky, of course."

"Hanky-panky!" The prisoner drew himself straight up. "Is it possible that you suspect me of hanky-panky? Yes, sir, I will show you how it's done. If you wish it, you shall be torn asunder where you stand."

"Thank you,--you needn't trouble. I'll sign."

He signed. The chaplain shook his head and sighed.

"I always placed a literal interpretation on the twenty-eighth chapter of the first book of Samuel. It is singular how my faith is justified!"

The chief warder placed his spectacles upon his nose, where they seemed uneasy, and made quite a business of signing. And such was Warder Slater's agitation, that he could scarcely sign at all. But at last the "testimonial" was complete. The prisoner smiled as he carefully folded it in two.

"I will convey it to Colonel Gregory," he said. "It is a gratification to me to have been able to retrieve my character in so short a s.p.a.ce of time."

They watched him--a little spellbound, perhaps; and as they watched him, even before their eyes--behold, he was gone!

TWINS!

CHAPTER I.

THE FIRST LADY.

"Mrs. And Miss Danvers."

Mr. Herbert Buxton, standing at the office window of the hotel, glancing at the visitors' book on the desk at his right, saw the names among the latest arrivals. They caught his eye. "Pontresina" was stated to be the place from which they had lately come.

"It is _the_ Danvers, for a fiver--Cecil's Danvers."

Strolling from the office window, he took a letter--a frayed letter--from his pocket-book. It was post-marked "Pontresina." The signature was "Cecil Buxton"--it was from his brother.

"Dear Hubert," it ran, "you really must get something to do! Your request for what you call an advance is absurd. So far from advancing you anything I shall have to cut short the allowance I have been making you. I have met here a Mrs. and Miss Danvers. I have asked Miss Danvers to do me the honour to marry me. She has consented. When that event comes to pa.s.s--which will be very shortly--your allowance will recede to a vanis.h.i.+ng point. That you will get something to do is, therefore, the advice of your affectionate brother, Cecil Buxton."

"It would be an odd coincidence," reflected Hubert, "if that Miss Danvers is this Miss Danvers."

An idea occurred to his fertile--too fertile--brain. As the first glimmerings of the idea burst on him, Hubert smiled.

In giving birth to Cecil and Hubert Buxton, Nature had been indulging in one of her freaks. They were twins--born within a few seconds of each other. Cecil came first. Hubert came, with all possible expedition, immediately after. Babies are proverbially alike. These babies were so much alike that, when they were undressed, no one ever pretended to be able to tell one from the other. The resemblance outlived babyhood. As the years went on, Cecil was always being taken for Hubert, Hubert for Cecil. The unfortunate part of the business was that the resemblance was merely superficial. Inside, they were altogether different. Cecil was solid and steady, while Hubert--well, at that particular moment he was quartered at that fas.h.i.+onable Bournemouth hotel, without money in his pocket with which to pay his hotel bill, and with n.o.body within reach from whom he could borrow a five-pound note.

"If," he told himself, "_this_ Danvers is that Danvers, I might make something out of that fatal likeness after all."

It would not be, by any means, the first time he had made something out of the "fatal likeness," but on that, in this place, we need not dwell. He strolled along the corridor, the open letter in his hand, biting his nails and thinking over things as he went. As he approached the gla.s.s door which led into the grounds, it opened to admit a lady.

At sight of him she stopped.

"Cecil!" she exclaimed.

Hubert looked at her. She was a magnificent woman, planned altogether on a magnificent scale, with a profusion of red-gold hair, and a pair of the biggest and brightest eyes Hubert, with all his wide experience, ever remembered to have seen.

"It _is_ the Danvers!" he inwardly decided. "What a 'oner'!"

But he was equal to the occasion. He generally was--more than equal.

He held out his hand to her with a little sudden burst.

"You!" he cried.

The lady, however, did not immediately respond to his advances. On the contrary, she put her hands behind her back.

"This is an unexpected pleasure. I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you were in Paris."

As a matter of fact according to the most recent advices, Cecil was in Paris. But, of course, Hubert had nothing to do with that.

"I only arrived last night. You--you don't seem glad to see me?"

"It is rather I who should ask the question. Are you glad to see me?"

There was a dryness in her tone which grated on Hubert's ears.

"This is a case in which diplomacy is required. I wonder what there's been between them." Aloud he remarked, "Can you not forget and forgive?"