“Yes, it was a very sporting jump.  But who is Mr. Fortescue, and where does he come from?”

“That is what nobody seems to know.  Mr. Keyworth—­he was at the kennels only yesterday—­asked me the very same 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.

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.