Yet in the end it was Hans who killed him.
Jana nearly killed me! Now to my tale.
In another history, called "The Holy Flower," I have told how I came to England with a young gentleman of the name of Scroope, partly to see him safely home after a hunting accident, and partly to try to dispose of a unique orchid for a friend of mine called Brother John by the white people, and Dogeetah by the natives, who was popularly supposed to be mad, but, in fact, was very sane indeed.

So sane was he that he pursued what seemed to be an absolutely desperate quest for over twenty years, until, with some humble assistance on my part, he brought it to a curiously successful issue.

But all this tale is told in "The Holy Flower," and I only allude to it here, that is at present, to explain how I came to be in England.
While in this country I stayed for a few days with Scroope, or, rather, with his fiancee and her people, at a fine house in Essex.

(I called it Essex to avoid the place being identified, but really it was one of the neighbouring counties.) During my visit I was taken to see a much finer place, a splendid old castle with brick gateway towers, that had been wonderfully well restored and turned into a most luxurious modern dwelling.

Let us call it "Ragnall," the seat of a baron of that name.
I had heard a good deal about Lord Ragnall, who, according to all accounts, seemed a kind of Admirable Crichton.