question. He thought Jim Rawlings might ha’ told me something. But bless you, Jim knows no more than anybody else. All as he can tell is as Mr. Fortescue sometimes goes to London, that he is uncommon fond of hosses, and either rides or drives tandem nearly every day, and has ordered a slap-up four-in-hand drag. And he has got a ’boratory and no end o’ chemicals and stuff, and electric machines, and all sorts o’ gimcracks.”

“Is there a Mrs. Fortescue?”

“Not as I knows on. There is not a woman in the house, except servants.”

“Who looks after things, then?”

“Well, there’s a housekeeper. But the head bottle-washer is a chap they call major-domo—a German he is. He looks after everything, and an uncommon sharp domo he is, too, Jim says. Nobody can do him a penny piece. And then there is Mr. Fortescue’s body-servant; he’s a dark man, with a big scar on one cheek, and rings in his ears. They call him Rumun.”

“Nonsense! There’s no such name as Rumun.”

“That’s what I told Jim. He said it was a rum ’un, but his name was Rumun, and no mistake.”

“Dark, and rings in his ears! The man is probably a Spaniard. You mean Ramon.”

“No, I don’t; I mean Rumun,” returned Tawney, doggedly. “I thought it was an uncommon rum name, and I asked Jim twice—he calls at the kennels sometimes—I asked him twice, and he said he was cock sure it was Rumun.”

“Rumun let it be then. Altogether, this Mr. Fortescue seems to be rather a mysterious personage.”

“You are right there, Mr. Bacon, he is. I only wish I was half as mysterious. Why, he must be worth thousands upon thousands. And he spends his money like a gentleman, he does—thinks less of a sovereign than you think of a bob. He sent Mr. Keyworth a hundred pounds for his hunt subscription, and said if they were any ways short at the end of the season they had only to tell him and he would send as much more.”

Having now got all the information out of Tawney he was able to give me, I stood him another whiskey, and after lighting a cigar I mounted my horse and jogged slowly homeward, thinking much about Mr. Fortescue, and wondering who he could be. The study of physiognomy is one of my fads, and his face had deeply impressed me; in great wealth, moreover, there is always something that strikes the imagination, and this man was evidently very rich, and the mystery that surrounded him piqued my curiosity.

Chapter II.

Tickle-Me-Quick.

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Being naturally of a retiring disposition, and in no sense the hero of the tale which I am about to tell, I shall say no more concerning myself than is absolutely necessary. At the same time, it is essential to a right comprehension of what follows that I say something about myself, and better that I should say it now than interrupt the even flow of my narrative later on.

My name is Geoffrey Bacon, and I have reason to believe that I was born at a place in Essex called (appropriately enough) Dedham. My family is one of the oldest in the county, and (of course) highly respectable; but as the question is often put to me by friends, and will naturally suggest itself to my readers, I may as well observe, once for all, that I am not a descendent of the Lord Keeper Bacon, albeit, if he had had any children, I have no doubt I should have been.

My poor mother died in giving me birth; my father followed her when I was ten years old, leaving me with his blessing (nothing else), to the care of his aunt, Miss Ophelia Bacon, by whom I was brought up and educated. She was very good to me, but though I was far from being intentionally ungrateful, I fear that I did not repay her goodness as it deserved. The dear old lady had made up her mind that I should be a doctor, and though I would rather have been a farmer or a country gentleman (the latter for choice), I made no objection; and so long as I remained at school she had no reason to complain of my conduct. I satisfied my masters and passed my preliminary examination creditably and without difficulty, to my aunt’s great delight. She protested that she was proud of me, and rewarded my diligence and cleverness with a five-pound note. But after I became a student at Guy’s I gave her much trouble, and got myself into some sad scrapes. I spent her present, and something more, in hiring mounts, for I was passionately fond of riding, especially to hounds, and ran into debt with a neighboring livery-stable keeper to the tune of twenty pounds. I would sometimes borrow the greengrocer’s pony, for I was not particular what I rode, so long as it had four legs. When I could obtain a mount neither for love nor on credit, I went after the harriers on foot. The result, as touching my health and growth, was all that could be desired. As touching my studies, however, it was less satisfactory. I was spun twice, both in my anatomy and physiology. Miss Ophelia, though sorely grieved, was very indulgent, and had she lived, I am afraid that I should never have got my diploma. But when I was twenty-one and she seventy-five, my dear aunt died, leaving me all her property (which made an income of about four hundred a year), with the proviso that unless, within three years of her death, I obtained the double qualification, the whole of her estate was to pass to Guy’s Hospital. In the mean time the trustees were empowered to make me an allowance of two guineas a week and defray all my hospital expenses.

On this, partly because I was loath to lose so goodly a heritage, partly, I hope, from worthier motives, I buckled-to in real earnest, and before I was four-and-twenty I could write after my name the much coveted capitals M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. All this while I had not once crossed a horse or looked at a hound, yet the ruling passion was still strong, and being very much of Mr. Jorrock’s opinion that all time not spent in hunting is lost, I resolved, before “settling down” or taking up any position which might be incompatible with indulgence in my favorite amusement, to devote a few years of my life to fox-hunting. At twenty-four a man does not give much thought to the future—at any rate I did not.

The next question was how to hunt three or four days a week on four hundred a year, for though I was quite willing to spend my income, I was resolved not to touch my capital. To begin with, I sold my aunt’s cottage and furniture and took a couple of rooms for the winter at Red Chimneys, a roomy farm-house in the neighborhood of Treydon. Then, acting on the great principle of co-operation, I joined at horse-keeping with my good friend and old school-fellow, Bertie Alston, a London solicitor. Being both of us light-weights, we could mount ourselves cheaply; the average cost of our stud of four horses did not exceed forty pounds apiece. Moreover, when opportunities offered, we did not disdain to turn an honest penny by buying an animal cheap and selling him dear, and as I looked after things myself, bought my own forage, and saw that I had full measure, our stable expenses were kept within moderate limits. Except when the weather was bad, or a horse hors de combat, I generally contrived to get four days’ hunting a week—three with the fox-hounds and one with Mr. Vigne’s harriers—for, owing to his professional engagements, Alston could not go out as often as I did. But as I took all the trouble and responsibility, it was only fair that I should have the lion’s share of the riding.

At the end of the season we either sold the horses off or turned them into a straw-yard, and I went to sea as ship’s surgeon. In this capacity I made voyages to Australia, to the Cape, and to the West Indies; and the summer before I first saw Mr. Fortescue I had been to the Arctic Ocean in a