Vain were the Baron’s protests; and upon the appearance of Dugald M’Culloch, fisherman and facto-tum to the millionaire, accompanied by three burly satellites, vain, he perceived, would be the most desperate resistance.  He plead the privileges of a foreign diplomatist, threatened a descent of the German army upon Lincoln Lodge, guaranteed an intimate acquaintance with the American ambassador—­“Who vill make you sorry for zis!” but all without moving Mr. Maddison’s resolution.  Even Eleanor whispered a word for him and was repulsed, for he overheard her father replying to her—­

“No, no, Eleanor; no more a diplomatist than you would have been Lady Tulliwuddle.  Guess I know what I’m doing.”

Whereupon the late Lord Tulliwuddle, kilt and all, was conveyed by a guard of six tall men and deposited in the bit of genuine antique above the harness-room.  This proved to be a small chamber in a thick-walled wing of the original house, now part of the back premises; and there, with his face buried in his hands, the poor prisoner moaned aloud—­

“Oh, my life, she is geblasted!  I am undone!  Oh, I am lost!”

“Will it be so bad as that, indeed?”

He looked up with a start, and perceived Dugald, his jailor, gazing upon him with an expression of indescribable sagacity.

“The master will be sending me with his car to tell the folks at Hechnahoul,” added Dugald.

Still the Baron failed to comprehend the exchange of favors suggested by his jailor’s sympathetic voice.

“Go, zen!” he muttered, and bent his head.

“You will not be wishing to send no messages to your friends?”

At last the prisoner understood.  For a sovereign Dugald promised to convey a note to the Count; for five he undertook to bribe the chauffeur to convey him to The Lash, when he learned where that gentleman was to be found.  And he further decided to be faithful to his trust, since, as he prudently reflected—­

“If he will be a real chentleman after all it shall not be well to be hard with him.  And if he will not be, nobody shall know.”

The Baron felt a trifle less hopeless now, yet so black did the prospect remain that he firmly believed he should never be able to raise his head again and meet the gaze of his fellow-men; not at least if he stayed in that room till the police arrived.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Not even the news of Flodden brought direr dismay to Hechnahoul than Mr. Maddison’s brief note.  Lord Tulliwuddle an impostor?  That magnificent young man a fraud?  So much geniality, brawn, and taste for the bagpipes merely the sheep’s clothing that hid a wandering wolf?  Incredible!  Yet, on second thoughts, how very much more thrilling than if he had really been an ordinary peer!  And what a judgment on the presumption of Mr. and Mrs. Gallosh!  Hard luck on Eva, of course —­but, then, girls who aspire to marry out of their own station must expect this kind of thing.