disturbed by the cool manner in which his
wonderful confession had been received. "Can it be they are laying low
and sending for the police?" thought he.

He was debating this question when the door opened and the Duke walked
in, followed by a bald, elderly, pleasant-looking man; after this latter
came a cadaverous gentleman, wearing glasses.

The bald man was Dr. Simms, the cadaverous, Dr. Cavendish.

Simms nodded at Jones as though he knew him.

"I have asked these gentlemen as friends of the family to step in and
talk about this matter before seeing Lady Rochester," said the Duke.
"She has been taken to her room, and is not yet prepared for visitors."

"I shall be delighted to help in any way," said Simms; "my services,
professional or private, are always at your disposal, your grace." He
sat down and turned to Jones. "Now tell us all about it," said he.

Cavendish took another chair and the Duke remained standing.

Jones felt irritated, felt somewhat as a maestro would feel who, having
finished that musical obstacle race The Grand Polonnaise, finds himself
requested to play it again.

"I've told the whole thing once," said he, "I can't go over it
again--the Duke knows."

Suddenly Cavendish spoke:

"I understand from what his grace said on the stairs, that there is some
trouble about identity?"

"Some trouble," said Jones; "I reckon you are right in calling it some
trouble."

"You are Mr. Jones, I think," said Simms.

"Victor Jones was the name I was christened by," answered Jones.

"Quite so, American?"

"American."

"Now, Mr. Jones, as a matter of formality, may I ask where you live in
America?"

"Philadelphia."

"And in Philadelphia what might be your address?"

"Number one thousand, one hundred and one, Walnut Street," replied
Jones.

Cavendish averted his head for a moment and the Duke shifted his
position on the hearthrug, leaving his elbow on the mantel and caressing
for a moment his chin.

Simms alone remained unmoved.

"Just so," said Simms. "Have you any family?"

"Nope."

"I beg your pardon."

"No."

"I thought you said nope--my mistake."

"Not a bit, I did say nope--it's short for no."

"_Short_ for no--I see, just so."

Cavendish interposed with an air of interest.

"How would you spell that word?" asked he. Jones resented Cavendish
somehow.

"I don't know," said he, "this isn't a spelling bee. N-o-p-e I suspect.
You gentlemen have undertaken to question me on