It was a lovely afternoon. The sun was gilding the platform with its rays, and a gentle breeze blew from the west. A little brook ran tinkling at the side of the road; birds were singing in the hedgerows; and through the trees could be discerned dimly the noble façade of the County Lunatic Asylum. Soothed by his surroundings, George began to feel so refreshed that he regretted that in this wayside station there was no one present whom he could engage in talk.
It was at this moment that the distinguished-looking stranger entered the platform.
The newcomer was a man of imposing physique, simply dressed in pyjamas, brown boots, and a mackintosh. In his hand he carried a top-hat, and into this he was dipping his fingers, taking them out, and then waving them in a curious manner to right and left. He nodded so affably to George that the latter, though a little surprised at the other’s costume, decided to speak. After all, he reflected, clothes do not make the man, and, judging from the other’s smile, a warm heart appeared to beat beneath that orange-and-mauve striped pyjama jacket.
“N-n-n-n-nice weather,” he said.
“Glad you like it,” said the stranger. “I ordered it specially.”
George was a little puzzled by this remark, but he persevered.
“M-might I ask wur-wur-what you are dud-doing?”
“Doing?”
“With that her-her-her-her-hat?”
“Oh, with this hat? I see what you mean. Just scattering largesse to the multitude,” replied the stranger, dipping his fingers once more and waving them with a generous gesture. “Devil of a bore, but it’s expected of a man in my position. The fact is,” he said, linking his arm in George’s and speaking in a confidential undertone, “I’m the Emperor of Abyssinia. That’s my palace over there,” he said, pointing through the trees. “Don’t let it go any further. It’s not supposed to be generally known.”
It was with a rather sickly smile that George now endeavoured to withdraw his arm from that of his companion, but the other would have none of this aloofness. He seemed to be in complete agreement with Shakespeare’s dictum that a friend, when found, should be grappled to you with hooks of steel. He held George in a vise-like grip and drew him into a recess of the platform. He looked about him, and seemed satisfied.
“We are alone at last,” he said.
This fact had already impressed itself with sickening clearness on the young man. There are few spots in the civilized world more deserted than the platform of a small country station. The sun shone on the smooth asphalt, on the gleaming rails, and on the machine which, in exchange for a penny placed in the slot marked “Matches,” would supply a package of wholesome butterscotch—but on nothing else.
What George could have done with at the moment was a posse of police armed with stout clubs, and there was not even a dog in sight.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time,” said the stranger, genially.
“Huh-huh-have you?” said George.
“Yes. I want your opinion of human sacrifices.”
George said he didn’t like them.
“Why not?” asked the other, surprised.
George said it was hard to explain. He just didn’t.
“Well, I think you’re wrong,” said the Emperor. “I know there’s a school of thought growing up that holds your views, but I disapprove of it. I hate all this modern advanced thought. Human sacrifices have always been good enough for the Emperors of Abyssinia, and they’re good enough for me. Kindly step in here, if you please.”
He indicated the lamp-and-mop room, at which they had now arrived. It was a dark and sinister apartment, smelling strongly of oil and porters, and was probably the last place on earth in which George would have wished to be closeted with a man of such peculiar views. He shrank back.
“You go in first,” he said.
“No larks,” said the other, suspiciously.
“L-l-l-l-larks?”
“Yes. No pushing a fellow in and locking the door and squirting water at him through the window. I’ve had that happen to me before.”
“Sus-certainly not.”
“Right!” said the Emperor. “You’re a gentleman and I’m a gentleman. Both gentlemen. Have you a knife, by the way? We shall need a knife.”
“No. No knife.”
“Ah, well,” said the Emperor, “then we’ll have to look about for something else. No doubt we shall manage somehow.”
And with the debonair manner which so became him, he scattered another handful of largesse and walked into the lamp-room.
It was not the fact that he had given his word as a gentleman that kept George from locking the door. There is probably no family on earth more nicely scrupulous as regards keeping its promises than the Mulliners, but I am compelled to admit that, had George been able to find the key, he would have locked that door without hesitation. Not being able to find the key, he had to be satisfied with banging it. This done, he leaped back and raced away down the platform. A confused noise within seemed to indicate that the Emperor had become involved with some lamps.
George made the best of the respite. Covering the ground at a high rate of speed, he flung himself into the train and took refuge under the seat.
There he remained, quaking. At one time he thought that his uncongenial acquaintance had got upon his track, for the door of the compartment opened and a cool wind blew in upon him. Then, glancing along the floor, he perceived feminine ankles. The relief was enormous, but even in his relief George, who was the soul of modesty, did not forget his manners. He closed his eyes.
A voice spoke.
“Porter!”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What was all that disturbance as I came into the station?”
“Patient escaped from the asylum, ma’am.”
“Good gracious!”
The voice would undoubtedly have spoken further, but
