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?"

The 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 honor of knowing Mr. Dacre, though, 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, a