The men, at a sign from their chief, retired into the bedroom.

"Now, perhaps you will recognize that I am not to be played with, _your Grace_," squeaked Mr. Ziegler. "Also that my ears are as long as my arms. I have known for some days that the gentleman whom my good friend Jevons was able to procure has had a sudden change in his fortunes, and I congratulate myself upon it. It doubles your value to us, all the more since your early call upon me after landing shows that you mean to abide by your bargain. But there must be no more petty reservations and concealments like that. If you try them on, rest a.s.sured that they will be detected and dealt with."

The Duke straightened his rumpled collar, and looked, as he felt, a beaten man. The ma.s.s of infirmity in the wheel-chair held, without doubt, a power with which he could not cope. On the face of it the notion that a man could be violently made away with in a crowded London hotel might seem melodramatic and improbable, but the experience of the last few minutes had shown him how readily it could be done by a chief as well served as Ziegler appeared to be. And if he was at the man's mercy in a crowded hostelry like the Cecil, where would he be safe? Yes, if he was to enjoy his dukedom, he would have to go through with his task.

"Well, give me my instructions. What am I to do?" he said, stiffly.

"You have made a very good beginning already," replied Ziegler, watching him narrowly through the tinted gla.s.ses. "A gentleman, acting on behalf of the United States Government, will shortly bring to this country the three million pounds' worth of Treasury bonds which we mean to have. It will be your task to relieve him of the paper, subst.i.tuting bonds of our own make, which will be deposited at the Bank of England as security against a shipment of gold."

"I see," the Duke murmured, mechanically. "But," he added with more animation, "how have I made a beginning already?"

"By making yourself agreeable to Miss Leonie Sherman. It is her father, Senator Sherman, who is bringing the real bonds," was the answer, which struck a chill to the Duke's heart and kept him speechless with amazement. This old scoundrel seemed to know everything, to have arranged everything, irrespective of time and s.p.a.ce.

"You ought to be grateful for my foresight in smoothing the way for you," Ziegler croaked, in evident enjoyment of his perplexity. "It was my agent who, by securing the good offices of a steward, had you placed next Miss Sherman at the saloon table on the _St. Paul_, with the result that he was able to report to me this morning from Southampton by telegraph that you had made use of your opportunity."

"I see," was all the Duke could feebly repeat.

"You have been invited to call on the Shermans in London? You know where they are staying, 140 Grosvenor Gardens?"

"Yes," said Beaumanoir.

"Good! Then your Grace will go on as you have begun. Gain the girl's confidence, and that of her mother-the latter will be easy under the auspices of your new dignity-and come here again at twelve o'clock on Sat.u.r.day morning, three days hence. I may then have further instructions for you."

And Mr. Clinton Ziegler waved a white, well-formed hand in dismissal.

CHAPTER IV-_The Lady in the Landau_

Beaumanoir pa.s.sed into the corridor with unsteady steps, dazed by the enormity of his entanglement. He had been caught so easily, yet he was held so firmly. His first impulse was to rush off to Scotland Yard, expose the white-bearded wire-puller in the invalid chair, and claim protection. But that course would entail confession of his engagement as a criminal instrument, to the everlasting disgrace of the great family of which he was now the head. The alternatives were foul treachery to the girl of his heart or almost certain death at the hands of Ziegler's disciplined ruffians.

He had reached the top of the broad staircase when a step, almost inaudible on the thick pile carpet, sounded behind him and a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Charley, old boy! Or is it 'your Grace' I should be calling you? What the d.i.c.kens are you doing here?" said the young man who had overtaken him.

Beaumanoir's hara.s.sed brows cleared as he met Alec Forsyth's honest gaze and he felt the grip of his honest hand. Their ways had lain apart for the last few years, but a very real friendship, begun in the Eton playing fields, had survived separation. Of all his acquaintances, Alec had been the only one to go down to Liverpool twelve months before to bid scapegrace Charles Hanbury farewell.

"I had a call to make, before going to Pattisons' in Lincoln's Inn,"

said the Duke. And then with quick apprehension he added, pointing to the door he had just left: "Have you come from there? Have you business with Ziegler too?"

"Ziegler? Who's Ziegler?" asked Forsyth, looking puzzled by his sudden confusion. "No, I haven't been to those rooms, but to the suite beyond.

A duty call on a certain Mrs. Talmage Eglinton, but, thank goodness, she wasn't at home. Now about yourself, Charley. Fortune smiles again, eh?"

"It's only a sickly grin at present," Beaumanoir replied, dejectedly.

"See here, Alec; I've got my bag on a cab outside. I landed at Southampton too early for lunch. Come and talk to me while I get a snack before going to the lawyers."

A few minutes later they were seated in a Strand restaurant, and the young Scotsman heard all about his friend's struggles with the demon of poverty in New York, but never a word of the trouble that was brooding.

In his turn Forsyth was able to fill in the blanks of the family solicitor's cablegram, and enlightened Beaumanoir as to the manner of his succession to the t.i.tle. The late Duke was traveling to Newmarket in a racing "special," accompanied by his nephew and heir, George Hanbury, when they had both met their deaths in a collision.

The double funeral had taken place at Prior's Tarrant, the ancestral seat of the Dukes of Beaumanoir in Hertfordshire, three days before, the arrangements having been made by the solicitors, in the absence of the next successor. The last Duke having been a childless widower, and both his brothers, the fathers respectively of George and Charles Hanbury, having predeceased him, there had been no near relatives to follow the late head of the house to his last resting-place.

"Let me see, my cousin George had a sister, Sybil, who used to live with my uncle," Beaumanoir mused aloud. "I wonder what has become of her."

"I believe that she is still at your town house in Piccadilly," replied Forsyth with a constraint which the other did not notice in his self-absorption. But the next moment it struck Beaumanoir as odd that the information should have been so readily forthcoming, for he had been unaware that his friend knew his relatives.

"You have made Sybil Hanbury's acquaintance, then?" he asked.

"Yes, since your departure for America," was the reply. "I had the pleasure of meeting her first at my uncle's in Grosvenor Gardens-General Sadgrove's, you know. I dare say you remember him?"

"Oh, yes; I remember the General well-a shrewd old party with eyes like gimlets," said Beaumanoir. "But what's this about Grosvenor Gardens?" he added quickly. "The Sadgroves used to live in Bruton Street."

"Quite so; but they moved to 140 Grosvenor Gardens, last Christmas."

"140!" exclaimed the Duke. "Why, that's where the Shermans are going to stay. Some friends of mine who-who came over in the same ship," he went on to explain rather lamely.

Forsyth shot an amused glance at his old crony. "Yes, I know that Uncle Jem was expecting some Americans to put up with him, and he has been raving about the charms of the young lady of the party for the last fortnight. You are excited, Charley. Your manner has struck me as strange since we met at the hotel. Is it permitted to inquire if my uncle is entertaining unawares-a future d.u.c.h.ess?"

To the young Scotsman's surprise, the Duke showed signs for a moment of taking the light-spoken banter amiss. Beaumanoir flushed, and muttered something inarticulate, but pulled himself together and diverted their talk into a fresh channel, clumsily enough.

"Don't gas about me, old chap," he said. "Tell me of yourself. Is the world using you better than formerly?"

"About the same," Forsyth replied with a shrug. "They gave me a twenty-pound rise last year, so my pay as a third-grade clerk in the Foreign Office is now the princely sum of 230 per annum. Not a brilliant prospect. When I'm a worn-out old buffer of sixty I shall be able to retire on a pension about equal to my present pay."

"Then look here, Alec; chuck the public service and come to me," said the Duke, eagerly. "I'll give you eight hundred a year to begin with, and rises up to two thousand; and you can have the dower-house at Prior's Tarrant to live in. Call yourself private secretary, bailiff, anything you please-only come. The fact is-well, I've been a bit shaken by-by what I've gone through. I want someone near me who's more than a mere hireling."

It was Forsyth's turn to flush now, but with pleasure at the offer made to him. He accepted it in a few simple words, and the Duke rose and paid his score.

"Come with me to Pattisons'," he said. "Then we'll go on to Piccadilly and take possession."

The business at the lawyers', which consisted of little more than arranging future meetings, was soon finished, and the Duke and his new secretary took a fresh cab to the West End. As they bowled along Beaumanoir inquired further about his cousin Sybil, whom, owing to his absence in India and more latterly to his estrangement from his relations, he had never met. Forsyth imparted the information that for the last six months, since she "came out," she had virtually ruled the late Duke's household.

"But she can be little more than a child," Beaumanoir protested.

"Anyhow, I can't keep a cousin of eighteen on as _my_ housekeeper without setting Mrs. Grundy's tongue wagging. The question arises what to do with her. Old Pattison tells me she is well provided for, but I don't like telling her to clear out if it does not occur to her to go.

What sort is she, Alec?"

"That's rather a stiff question to put to _me_," Forsyth replied, as though to himself. "I had better make my confession first as last," he went on hurriedly. "You are her nearest relative now, and the head of her family. Ever since I first saw Sybil Hanbury the dearest wish of my heart has been to make her my wife, but without prospects of any kind I couldn't very well ask her. There you have it, my n.o.ble patron, in a nutsh.e.l.l."

Beaumanoir patted his friend's knee affectionately.

"My dear fellow, go in and win, so far as I am concerned," he said.

"While I am above ground your prospects need stand in your way no longer. But you haven't answered my question, which I'll put in another way. How is she likely to take my appearance on the scene?"

"I'm afraid she's rather prejudiced. Her brother George didn't love you much, you know, and she is greatly cut up by his loss," Forsyth replied, with the dogged manner of the honest man who has to say a disagreeable thing. "I don't think that you need be under any apprehension about her staying on at Beaumanoir House when you show up. To be candid, I saw her yesterday, and she said she should begin packing as soon as she was sure that you hadn't been drowned on the voyage home."

"Good girl!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Duke. "The unexpressed hope did her much honor, only it's a pity it didn't come off. Now, Alec, if you'll see her first-she needn't see me at all if she doesn't wish to-and tell her from me that she's not to hurry out of the house, because I'm going to oscillate between Prior's Tarrant and a hotel for the present, I shall be immensely obliged to you."