to hail a passing hansom. The Duke caught him by the arm.
"You ass! What do you mean? I am telling you the simple truth. My wife's been kidnapped."
Mr. Dacre's countenance was a thing to be seen-and remembered.
"Oh! I hadn't heard that there was much of that sort of thing about just now. They talk of poodles being kidnapped, but as for duchesses- You'd really better let me call that cab."
"Ivor, do you want me to kick you? Don't you see that to me it's a question of life and death? I've been in there to get the money." His Grace motioned towards the bank. "I'm going to take it to the scoundrel who has my darling at his mercy. Let me but have her hand in mine again, and he shall continue to pay for every sovereign with tears of blood until he dies."
"Look here, Datchet, I don't know if you're having a joke with me, or if you're not well-"
The Duke stepped impatiently into the roadway.
"Ivor, you're a fool! Can't you tell jest from earnest, health from disease? I'm off! Are you coming with me? It would be as well that I should have a witness."
"Where are you off to?"
"To the other end of the Arcade."
"Who is the gentleman you expect to have the pleasure of meeting there?"
"How should I know?" The Duke took a letter from his pocket-it was the letter which had just arrived. "The fellow is to wear a white top-hat, and a gardenia in his button hole."
"What is it you have there?"
"It's the letter which brought the news-look for yourself and see; but, for God's sake make haste!" His Grace glanced at his watch. "It's already twenty after five."
"And do you mean to say that on the strength of a letter such as this you are going to hand over five hundred pounds to-"
The Duke cut Mr. Dacre short:
"What are five hundred pounds to me? Besides, you don't know all. There is another letter. And I have heard from Mabel. But I will tell you all about it later. If you are coming, come!"
Folding up the letter, Mr. Dacre returned it to the Duke.
"As you say, what are five hundred pounds to you? It's as well they are not as much to you as they are to me, or I'm afraid-"
"Hang it, Ivor, do prose afterwards!"
The Duke hurried across the road. Mr. Dacre hastened after him. As they entered the Arcade they passed a constable. Mr. Dacre touched his companion's arm.
"Don't you think we'd better ask our friend in blue to walk behind us? His neighbourhood might be handy."
"Nonsense!" The Duke stopped short. "Ivor, this is my affair, not yours. If you are not content to play the part of silent witness, be so good as to leave me."
"My dear Datchet, I'm entirely at your service. I can be every whit as insane as you, I do assure you."
Side by side they moved rapidly down the Burlington Arcade. The Duke was obviously in a state of the extremest nervous tension. Mr. Dacre was equally obviously in a state of the most supreme enjoyment. People stared as they rushed past. The Duke saw nothing. Mr. Dacre saw everything, and smiled.
When they reached the Piccadilly end of the Arcade the Duke pulled up. He looked about him. Mr. Dacre also looked about him.
"I see nothing of your white-hatted and gardenia-button-holed friend," said Ivor.
The Duke referred to his watch:
"It's not yet half-past five. I'm up to time."
Mr. Dacre held his stick in front of him and leaned on it. He indulged himself with a beatific smile:
"It strikes me, my dear Datchet, that you've been the victim of one of the finest things in hoaxes-"
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
The voice which interrupted Mr. Dacre came from the rear. While they were looking in front of them some one approached from behind, apparently coming out of the shop which was at their backs.
The speaker looked a gentleman. He sounded like one, too. Costume, appearance, manner were beyond reproach-even beyond the criticism of two such keen critics as were these. The glorious attire of a London dandy was surmounted with a beautiful white top-hat. In his button-hole was a magnificent gardenia.
In age the stranger was scarcely more than a boy, and a sunny-faced, handsome boy at that. His cheeks were hairless, his eyes were blue. His smile was not only innocent, it was bland. Never was there a more conspicuous illustration of that repose which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.
The Duke looked at him, and glowered. Mr. Dacre looked at him, and smiled.
"Who are you?" asked the Duke.
"Ah-that is the question!" The newcomer's refined and musical voice breathed the very soul of affability. "I am an individual who is so unfortunate as to be in want of five hundred pounds."
"Are you the scoundrel who sent me that infamous letter?"
That charming stranger never turned a hair!
"I am the scoundrel mentioned in that infamous letter who wants to accost you at the Piccadilly end of the Burlington Arcade before half-past five-as witness my white hat and my gardenia."
"Where's my wife?"
The stranger gently swung his stick in front of him with his two hands. He regarded the Duke as a merry-hearted son might regard his father. The thing was beautiful!
"Her Grace will be home almost as soon as you are-when you have given me the money which I perceive you have all ready for me in that scarcely elegant-looking canvas bag." He shrugged his shoulders quite gracefully. "Unfortunately, in these matters one has no choice-one is forced to ask for gold."
"And suppose, instead of giving you what is in this canvas bag, I take you by the throat and choke the life right out of you?"
"Or suppose," amended Mr. Dacre, "that you do better, and commend this gentleman to the tender mercies of the first policeman we encounter."
The stranger turned to Mr. Dacre. He condescended to become conscious of his presence.
"Is this gentleman your Grace's friend? Ah-Mr. Dacre, I perceive! I have the honour of knowing Mr. Dacre, although, possibly, I am unknown to him."
"You were-until this moment."
With an airy little laugh the stranger returned to the Duke. He brushed an invisible speck of dust off the sleeve of his coat.
"As has been intimated in that infamous letter, his Grace is at perfect liberty to give me into custody-why not? Only" – he said it with his boyish smile-"if a particular communication is not received from me in certain quarters within a certain time, the Duchess of Datchet's beautiful white arm will be hacked off at the shoulder."
"You hound!"
The Duke would have taken the stranger by the throat, and have done his best to choke the life right out of him then and there, if Mr. Dacre had not intervened.
"Steady,
