he smiled. "Do you know something? You're one of the
few Americans I've ever met, outside your diplomats, who can address a
person as 'Your Grace' and make it sound natural. Some people look at
me as though they expected me to be all decked out in a ducal coronet
and full ermines, ready for a Coronation. Your Commissioner, for
instance. He seems quite a nice chap, but he also seems a bit overawed
at a title. You seem perfectly relaxed."

I considered that for a moment. "I imagine it's because he tends to
look at you as a Duke who has taken up police work as a sort of
gentlemanly hobby."

"And you?"

"I guess I tend to think of you as a good cop who had the good fortune
to be born the eldest son of a Duke."

His smile suddenly became very warm. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"Thank you very much."

There came the strained silence that sometimes follows when an honest
compliment is passed between two men who have scarcely met. I broke it
by pointing at the plaque on the front of my desk and giving him a
broad grin. "Or maybe it's just the kind of blood that flows in my
veins."

He looked at the little plaque that said _Inspector Royal C. Royall_
and laughed pleasantly. "I like to think that it's a little bit of
both."

* * * * *

The intercom on my desk flashed, and the sergeant's voice said:
"Inspector, a couple of the boys just brought in a man named
Manewiscz. A stolen car was run into a fire plug over on Fifth Avenue
near 99th Street. A witness has positively identified Manewiscz as the
driver who ran away before the squad car arrived."

"Sidney Manewiscz?" I asked. "Manny the Moog?"

"That's the one. He's got a record of stealing cars for joyrides. He
insists on talking to you."

"Bring him in," I said. "I'll talk to him. And get hold of Dr.
Brownlee."

"Excuse me," I said to the Duke. "Business." He started to get up, but
I said, "That's all right, Your Grace; you might as well sit in on
it." He relaxed back into the chair.

Two cops brought in Manewiscz, a short, nervous man with a big nose
and frightened brown eyes.

"What's the trouble, Manny?" I asked.

"Nothing, Inspector; I'm telling you, I didn't do nothing. I'm walking
along Fifth Avenoo when all of a sudden these cops pull up in a
squad-car and some fat jerk in the back seat is hollering that I am
the guy he seen get out of a smashup on 99th Street, which is a good
three blocks from where I am walking. B