"Didn't I tell you?" chortled Mr. Pyecroft. "Why, when our excellent
friend, Mr. Brown, presents the Duke's letter to-morrow morning to his
chief, or to Mrs. Allistair's agent,--if he ever gets that far,--he
will turn triumphantly over one sheet of Brentanos' very best
notepaper--blank."

"Blank?" cried Mrs. De Peyster.

Mr. Pyecroft's right eyelid drooped in its remarkable wink; his mouth
again tilted high to starboard in its impish smile.

"You see," he remarked, "the Duke's letter was written in an ink of my
own invention. One trifling idiosyncracy of that ink is that it fades
completely and permanently in exactly twelve hours."

CHAPTER XVII

A QUESTION OF IDENTITY

Mr. Pyecroft's grin grew by degrees more delighted: became the smile
of a whimsical genius of devil-may-care, of an exultantly mischievous
Pan. But he offered not a word of comment upon his work. He was an
artist who was, in the main, content to achieve his masterpieces and
leave comment and blame and praise to his public and his critics.

He stood up.

"I believe I promised to peel the potatoes and put on the roast," he
remarked, and went out.

"Matilda," breathed Mrs. De Peyster, numbed and awed, still aghast,
"did you ever dream there could be such a man?"

"Oh, ma'am,--never!"--tragically, wildly.

"Whatever _is_ he going to do next?"

"I'm sure I don't know, ma'am. Almost anything."

"And whatever is going to happen to us next?"

"Oh, ma'am, it's terrible to think about! I'm sure I can't even guess!
Mr. Pyecroft, and all the others, and all these things happening--I'm
sure they'll be the death of me, ma'am!"

Mrs. De Peyster sprang from her bed. Despite Matilda's cheap
dressing-gown which she wore as appropriate to her station, she made
a splendid figure of raging majesty, hands clenched, eyes blazing,
furiously erect.

"That man is outrageous!" she stormed. "I cannot, and shall not, stand
him any longer! We must, and shall, get rid of him!" Her voice rang
with its accustomed tone of all-conquering determination. "Matilda, we
are going to do it! I say we are going to do it!"

Matilda gazed admiringly at her magnificently aroused mistress. "Of
course, you'll do it, ma'am," she said with conviction.

"I cannot endure him another minute!" Mrs. De Peyster raged on. "At
once, he goes out of this house! Or we do!"

"Of course, ma'am," repeated Matilda in her adoring voice. And then
after a moment, she added quaveringly: