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Updated: May 12, 2025
I told him all that I knew and concluded by showing him Reggie Dacre's letter, which I had kept in the letter-case in my pocket. He returned it to me without a word. Presently he broke a spell of silence. All this time he had sat fixed in the one attitude only shifted once, when Marigold entered to clear away the breakfast things and was dismissed by me with a glance and a gesture.
Dacre reflected. He glanced at the duke out of the corners of his eyes. His languid utterance became a positive drawl. "I rather fancy that she wasn't." "Who was with her?" "My dear fellow, if you were to offer me the bank I couldn't tell you." "Was it a man?" Mr. Dacre's drawl became still more pronounced. "I rather fancy that it was." Mr. Dacre expected something. The duke was so excited.
I do not think that you need fear that the duchess will lose her arm, or even her little finger. Scoundrels of this one's kidney are most amenable to reason when they have handcuffs on their wrists." The duke plainly hesitated. He would and he would not. The stranger, as he eyed him, seemed much amused. "My dear duke, by all means act on Mr. Dacre's valuable suggestion. As I said before, why not?
"By the grace of God, no one yet has seemed to notice it. I suppose I have a swift brain and as soon as the thing is over I can cover it up. It's my awful terror that one day I shall be found out and everything I've gained shall be stripped away from me." "But what about a thing like this?" said I, tapping Colonel Dacre's letter. "That's all right," he answered grimly.
The heavy scent of the azalea flowers hung like incense everywhere, mingling aromatically with the smoke from Dacre's newly lighted cigar. With his hands in his pockets he followed his guide with long, easy strides. The ascent was nothing to him, and the other's halting progress brought a smile of contemptuous pity to his lips. What did the old rascal expect to gain from the interview he wondered?
How would she treat the situation if she ever came to know? I believe she would kill herself." "But she never need know! She never shall know!" There was a note of desperation in Dacre's rejoinder. "You have only got to hush it up, and it will die a natural death. That she-devil will never take the trouble to follow me out here. Why should she?
Of course, I might go to Dacre himself and demand the story of the silver spoons, but this would be a confession of failure on my part, and I rather dreaded Lionel Dacre's hearty laughter when I admitted that the mystery was too much for me. Besides this I was very well aware of the young man's kindly intentions towards me.
A low murmur began to come from the people, indeterminate, inarticulate; it came to Dacre's ears like the hum of distant battle, and perhaps he saw the battle, and the royal standard, and that last unworthy King for whom this thing was done. Then came Bagshaw's voice again: "Where is the King?" "Silence, sir!" thundered Richard Lincoln, and Bagshaw slunk back a pace or two, like a chidden dog.
I had not the faintest belief in Dacre's theory, nor any hopes for success in such an experiment; yet it amused me that the experiment should be made. Dacre, with great gravity, drew a small stand to the head of my settee, and placed the funnel upon it. Then, after a short conversation, he wished me good night and left me.
"And her honour is worth about as much to you, apparently, as your own! I am thinking of her and of her only. And, so far as I can see, there is only one thing to be done." "Oh, indeed!" Dacre's air of half-humorous persuasion dissolved into insolence. "And I am to do it, am I? Your humble servant to command!"
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