old man!" Mr. Dacre turned to the stranger: "You appear to be a pretty sort of a scoundrel."
The stranger gave his shoulders that almost imperceptible shrug:
"Oh, my dear Dacre, I am in want of money! I believe that you sometimes are in want of money, too."
Everybody knows that nobody knows where Ivor Dacre gets his money from, so the illusion must have tickled him immensely.
"You're a cool hand," he said.
"Some men are born that way."
"So I should imagine. Men like you must be born, not made."
"Precisely-as you say!" The stranger turned, with his graceful smile, to the Duke: "But are we not wasting precious time? I can assure your Grace that, in this particular matter, moments are of value."
Mr. Dacre interposed before the Duke could answer:
"If you take my strongly urged advice, Datchet, you will summon this constable who is now coming down the Arcade, and hand over this gentleman to his keeping. I do not think that you need fear that the Duchess will lose her arm, or even her little finger. Scoundrels of this one's kidney are most amenable to reason when they have handcuffs on their wrists."
The Duke plainly hesitated. He would-and he would not. The stranger, as he eyed him, seemed much amused.
"My dear Duke, by all means act on Mr. Dacre's valuable suggestion. As I said before, why not? It would at least be interesting to see if the Duchess does or does not lose her arm-almost as interesting to you as to Mr. Dacre. Those blackmailing, kidnapping scoundrels do use such empty menaces. Besides, you would have the pleasure of seeing me locked up. My imprisonment for life would recompense you even for the loss of her Grace's arm. And five hundred pounds is such a sum to have to pay-merely for a wife! Why not, therefore, act on Mr. Dacre's suggestion? Here comes the constable." The constable referred to was advancing towards them-he was not a dozen yards away. "Let me beckon to him-I will with pleasure." He took out his watch-a gold chronograph repeater. "There are scarcely ten minutes left during which it will be possible for me to send the communication which I spoke of, so that it may arrive in time. As it will then be too late, and the instruments are already prepared for the little operation which her Grace is eagerly anticipating, it would, perhaps, be as well, after all, that you should give me into charge. You would have saved your five hundred pounds, and you would, at any rate, have something in exchange for her Grace's mutilated limb. Ah, here is the constable! Officer!"
The stranger spoke with such a pleasant little air of easy geniality that it was impossible to tell if he were in jest or earnest. This fact impressed the Duke much more than if he had gone in for a liberal indulgence of the-under the circumstances-orthodox melodramatic scowling. And, indeed, in the face of his own common sense, it impressed Mr. Ivor Dacre too.
This well-bred, well-groomed youth was just the being to realise-aux bouts des ongles-a modern type of the devil, the type which depicts him as a perfect gentleman, who keeps smiling all the time.
The constable whom this audacious rogue had signalled approached the little group. He addressed the stranger:
"Do you want me, sir?"
"No, I do not want you. I think it is the Duke of Datchet."
The constable, who knew the Duke very well by sight, saluted him as he turned to receive instructions.
The Duke looked white, even savage. There was not a pleasant look in his eyes and about his lips. He appeared to be endeavouring to put a great restraint upon himself. There was a momentary silence. Mr. Dacre made a movement as if to interpose. The Duke caught him by the arm.
He spoke: "No, constable, I do not want you. This person is mistaken."
The constable looked as if he could not quite make out how such a mistake could have arisen, hesitated, then, with another salute, he moved away.
The stranger was still holding his watch in his hand.
"Only eight minutes," he said.
The Duke seemed to experience some difficulty in giving utterance to what he had to say.
"If I give you this five hundred pounds, you-you-"
As the Duke paused, as if at a loss for language which was strong enough to convey his meaning, the stranger laughed.
"Let us take the adjectives for granted. Besides, it is only boys who call each other names-men do things. If you give me the five hundred sovereigns, which you have in that bag, at once-in five minutes it will be too late-I will promise-I will not swear; if you do not credit my simple promise, you will not believe my solemn affirmation-I will promise that, possibly within an hour, certainly within an hour and a half, the Duchess of Datchet shall return to you absolutely uninjured-except, of course, as you are already aware, with regard to a few of the hairs of her head. I will promise this on the understanding that you do not yourself attempt to see where I go, and that you will allow no one else to do so." This with a glance at Ivor Dacre. "I shall know at once if I am followed. If you entertain any such intentions, you had better, on all accounts, remain in possession of your five hundred pounds."
The Duke eyed him very grimly:
"I entertain no such intentions-until the Duchess returns."
Again the stranger indulged in that musical little laugh of his:
"Ah, until the Duchess returns! Of course, then the bargain's at an end. When you are once more in the enjoyment of her Grace's society, you will be at liberty to set all the dogs in Europe at my heels. I assure you I fully expect that you will do so-why not?" The Duke raised the canvas bag. "My dear Duke, ten thousand thanks! You shall see her Grace at Datchet House, 'pon my honour. Probably within the hour."
"Well," commented Ivor Dacre, when the stranger had vanished, with the bag, into Piccadilly, and as the Duke and himself moved towards Burlington Gardens, "if a gentleman is to be robbed, it is as well that he should have another gentleman to rob him."
CHAPTER III
AND FOUND
Mr. Dacre eyed his companion covertly as they progressed. His Grace of Datchet appeared to have some fresh cause for uneasiness. All at once he gave it utterance, in a tone of voice which was extremely sombre:
"Ivor, do you think that scoundrel will dare to play me false?"
"I think," murmured Mr. Dacre, "that he has dared to play you pretty false already."
"I don't mean that. But I mean how am I to know, now that he has his money, that he will still not keep Mabel in his clutches?"
There came an echo from Mr. Dacre:
"Just so-how are you to know?"
"I believe that something of this sort has been done in the United States."
"I thought that there they were content to kidnap them after they were dead. I was not aware that they had, as yet, got quite so far as the living."
"I believe that I have heard of something just like this."
"Possibly; they are giants over there."
"And in that case the scoundrels, when their demands were met, refused to keep to the letter of their bargain,
