But his visitor apparently had other views.
"I should be obliged by some explanation from yourself of your entry into my house," said he, steadily keeping his eye upon the Count.
"Now how the deuce shall I get out of this hole without letting Julia into another ?" wondered Bunker; but before he could speak, Mackenzie had blurted out-- "Miss Wallingford, sir--the gentleman is a friend of hers, sir." "What!" thundered Sir Justin.
"I assure you that Miss Wallingford was actuated by the highest motives in honoring me with an invitation to The Lash," said Bunker earnestly.
He had already dismissed an ingenious account of himself as a belated wanderer, detained by stress of weather, as certain to be contradicted by Julia herself, and decided instead on risking all upon his supposed uncle's saintly reputation.
"How came she to invite you, sir ?" demanded Sir Justin.
"As my uncle's nephew, merely." Sir Justin stared at him in silence, while he brought the full force of his capacious mind to bear upon the situation.
"Your name, you say, is Bunker ?" he observed at length.
"Count Bunker," corrected that nobleman.
"Ah! Doubtless, then, you are the same gentleman who has been residing with Lord Tulliwuddle ?" "I am unaware of a duplicate." "And the uncle you allude to---- ?" By a wave of his hand the Count referred him to the portrait upon the wall.

Sir Justin now stared at it.
"Bunker--Count Bunker," he repeated in a musing tone, and then turned to the present holder of that dignity with a look in his eye which the adventurer disliked exceedingly.
"I will confer with you later," he observed.

"Mackenzie, remove my portmanteau." In a voice inaudible to the Count he gave another order, which was followed by Mackenzie also removing the Count's clothes from their chair.
"I say, Mackenzie!" expostulated Bunker, now beginning to feel seriously uneasy; but heedless of his protest the butler hastened with them from the room.
Then, with a grim smile and a surprising alacrity of movement, Sir Justin changed the key into the outside of the lock, passed through the door, and shut and locked it behind him.
"The devil!" ejaculated Count Bunker.
Here was a pretty predicament! And the most ominous feature about it appeared to him to be the deliberation with which his captor had acted.
It seemed that he had got himself into a worse scrape than he could estimate.
He wasted no time in examining his prison with an eye to the possibility of an escape, but it became very quickly evident that he was securely trapped.

From the windows he could not see even a water-pipe within hail, and the door was unburstably ponderous.

Besides, a gentleman attired either in pajamas or evening dress will naturally shrink from flight across country at nine o'clock in the morning.