I. A. R. Wylie

“ You introduce me as your cousin, Count de Bontemps, who's been disguised as your valet for grave political reasons. They'll swallow me like butter."
"You—!" The unhappy young man folded his arms in an attitude of utter exasperation. "You a Count!!"
George leered.
"I'm just as good a count as you are any day," he observed. "'Ave you forgotten the tender bond of brotherhood?"
"Why, you can't even behave like a gentleman," burst in the Count, in a falsetto of indignation. ”

“ And who do you think I am?"
"You have been pointed out to me as the Count de Beaulieu's valet."
"Oh, indeed. Well, perhaps you aren't quite as bright as you think you are." George made an attempt to pass, but the stranger stretched out two detaining fingers.
"Do you want to earn half a crown?" he asked.
George shuddered.
"Wot a nasty idea!" he said. "I'll think about it."
"Because if you do, take this letter and give it to the Countess of Beaulieu. Say that I'll wait for her in the garden."
"Aren't you afraid she'll die of joy?"
"You are an extremely impertinent fellow. ”

“ Well, never mind, I daresay one new-found Count is enough for an afternoon. As I was saying, I am a man of many parts. In private life or during compulsory rest-cures I drop 'hs.' At other times I can talk any lingo you like. Would you like a sample of French—?"
"Good Heavens—no!"
Voices sounded outside. Monsieur de Beaulieu heard his wife's laugh a little—uneasy, he thought—and then a detestable masculine bass. George leant forward, his face had become diabolically threatening.
"If you don't give me out as your cousin, I'll give you away," he said in a sepulchral whisper. ”