Chapter XII

Outside in the vestibule the Duke looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past nine.

The girl by his side was quiet, but her eyes never left his face.

"I'm going to do it," he said grimly. He looked at her and of a sudden took her face between his hands and kissed her.

"You're worth it," he said simply.

St. John's station was ten minutes walk from the hall.

The three (for Hank led the way) reached there in five. The station inspector was on the platform, a courteous man with a cheerful eye and a short grey beard. Hank was to the point.

"I want you to flag the Continental," he said.

"That's an Americanism, isn't it," smiled the inspector. "You want me to put the signal against the Continental Mail." Hank nodded.

"I won't say it cannot be done," said the inspector, "but there will have to be a very urgent reason."

"That," said the admiring Hank, "is the kind of talk I like to hear;" and he told the official the whole story. The inspector nodded. "Next platform," he said shortly and ran for the signal box.

As they reached the platform the green light that gave "road clear" to the Continental swung up to red.

"Here's all the money I have," said Hank quickly: he emptied his pockets into the Duke's hands. "I'll get the Dover 'phone busy, charter a tug--you'll have to take your chance about the boat. She'll pull up if you signal her. I'll send you some money by wireless--here she comes."

She came--the noisy Continental reluctantly slowing down, steaming and snorting and whistling at the indignity.

The Duke bustled in, the starting signal fell....

"Look after the house!" shouted the Duke from the window. The train was on the move, when a man came flying down the steps.

"Stop _you_!" yelled Hank.

"Bang! bang! bang!..."

A group of porters surrounded the recumbent figure of Mr. Bill Slewer of Four Ways, who lay with a bullet in his leg cursing in a strange language.

Bill's revolver had fallen on to the metals, but Hank's slim Smith-Wesson hung in his hand still smoking.

"You must do the 'phoning," he said to the white-faced girl. "I shall have to stay and explain away William."

In the meantime the tail-lights of the Continental had disappeared round the curve.

*Part III*

*THE DUKE RETURNS*

*I*

Sir Harry Tanneur stood with his back to the library fire, in a disconsolate mood.

An industrious authority on heraldry had that morning rendered the report of a great discovery which at any other time would have filled the heart of the knight with joy, namely the connexion of the house of Tanneur with the Kings of France through Louis de Tendour and the Auvegian Capels.

There was little consolation in the Lilies of France, and meagre satisfaction to be derived from the "bloody hand en fesse on a field fretty." Sir Harry's mind was occupied with the contents of a letter which had arrived by the same post as the herald's report. It was brief and to the point.

DEAR SIR,--

We have to inform you that the court has upheld the Duke of Montvillier's title to the ownership of the Silver Streak Mine, and we are instructed that an appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States would in the light of recent happenings be unadvisable. The Duke who unexpectedly arrived at New York on board the _Kron Prinz Olaf_, is returning to Europe immediately.

Awaiting your favour,
We are, etc.

He read the letter again and was extremely vexed.

In contrast to his own cloudy visage, the face of Mr. Hal Tanneur who burst in upon him was radiant.

"We've got it, governor," he chuckled and waved a paper. "Saw old Middleton----"

"What, what, what?" snapped his parent.

"64--all that desirable property," quoted the young man. "Old Middleton was a bit shy of parting. Said the Duke promised to be a useful tenant. I offered L800, wouldn't take it, offered L900, wouldn't look at it, got it for L1,050."

"Good boy," commended his father, and grew more cheerful. "At any rate," he said, "we can clear this bounder out of the neighbourhood: what about Alicia?"

Hal frowned terribly.

"I've done my best to show her what a silly step she's taking. Had a little talk with her----"

"Tact--I hope you used tact. Tact is everything in business," warned Sir Harry.

"Rather!" said the other complacently, "I think I know a little about handling women. I got her on her tenderest side. I pointed out people would say she was marrying for a title, showed her how these mixed marriages never turned out well. As I said, 'My dear Alicia, you know nothing absolutely about this chap except what he tells you himself, the chances are that he's married already.'"

"That was right," approved his father.

"I said, 'You don't even know that he's a Duke--his name's in De Gotha, I grant you, but how do you know he's the man?'"

"What did she say?" demanded Sir Harry.

Hal shrugged his shoulders despairingly.

"She talked--like a woman," he said, with the air of one given to the coining of epigrams. "In so many words told me to mind my own business--in fact, governor, told me to go to the devil."

"Good heavens!" said the scandalized knight.

"Well," modified his son, "she didn't exactly say so, but that was the impression she gave me."

Sir Harry clicked his lips impatiently.

"This is gratitude!" he said bitterly. "After what I've done----" He paused to recollect his acts of beneficence, failed to recall any remarkable feat of generosity on his part, coughed, frowned, and repeated with increased bitterness--"Gratitude, bah!" He relapsed into gloomy silence, then reached out his hand for the document Hal had flourished.

"But this shall end," he said with splendid calmness; "we will bundle out this dam--confounded American Duke and his cowboy friend, bag and baggage. Smith shall serve him with a notice--has he paid his rent?"

"No," shouted Hal gleefully, "it was due the day he left for America and the Yankee person has overlooked it apparently."

Sir Harry nodded.

"Hal, my boy," he said lowering his voice, "how much money in solid cash do you think this wretched man has cost me?" The importance in his father's tone impressed the young man.

"A million?" he hazarded.

Sir Harry was annoyed, with the annoyance of a bargain hunter whose purchase is undervalued by an appraising friend.

"Don't be a fool!" he begged, "a million! Do you think I could sit down and tamely submit to the loss of a million? No----"

Hal made another guess.

"A thousand?"

"Sixty thousand," said his father impressively, "sixty thousand pounds or three hundred thousand dollars!"

Hal whistled.

"Absolutely taken out of my pocket, just as though the scoundrel had broken in to 'Hydeholme' and stolen it!" Sir Harry did not think it necessary to explain that the sum in question was the Duke's lawful property, and that his crime had consisted in establishing his legal claim to it.

"I need hardly say," Sir Harry went on "that if Alicia marries this person, it will be without my approval. Indeed I must seriously consider the question of altering the terms of my will." He said this very gravely.

"Were you leaving her much, governor?"

Sir Harry coughed.

"It is not so much a question of actual value as the thought behind the legacy," he explained; "one should not measure love by the standard of value received, but by the sentiment which inspires the gift--I have often regretted," he added thoughtfully, "that the practise of bequeathing mourning rings has gone out of fashion--they were inexpensive but effective."

Hal yawned.

"What about this Duke feller?" he demanded.

Sir Harry pursed his lips.

"He is on his way back--arrives at Liverpool to-morrow. Out first business is to clear him out of Brockley. To make the place too hot to hold him. He has chosen to match his wits against mine, to range himself with my--er--opponents. He shall discover that I am not to be despised."

There was something very complacent in Sir Harry's review of the situation that aroused the admiration of his son.

"He'll find you're a bit of a nut to crack, governor," he said.

Sir Harry smiled not ill-pleased with the implied compliment.

"If you will sit down, Hal, I will outline my plan of campaign."

Hal sat down.