Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries. THE DUKE DECIDES By HEADON HILL Author of _By a Hairâs-Breadth_, etc. _New York_ A. WESSELS COMPANY 1904 Copyright, 1903, by _A. Wessels Company_ Published, 1903 PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y. [Illustration: _Leonie Sherman_] ââââ CONTENTS CHAPTER Iâ_The Man with the Mandate_ CHAPTER IIâ_On Board the_ St. Paul CHAPTER IIIâ_A Task-master in Goggles_ CHAPTER IVâ_The Lady in the Landau_ CHAPTER Vâ_Ziegler Begins to Move_ CHAPTER VIâ_The General is Curious_ CHAPTER VIIâ_The Men on the Stairs_ CHAPTER VIIIâ_The Cut Panel_ CHAPTER IXâ_The Strategy of the General_ CHAPTER Xâ_A Duty Call_ CHAPTER XIâ_On the Terrace_ CHAPTER XIIâ_The Man Under the Seat_ CHAPTER XIIIâ_At the Keeperâs Cottage_ CHAPTER XIVâ_Too Many Women_ CHAPTER XVâ_A New Cure for Headache_ CHAPTER XVIâ_A Delicate Mission_ CHAPTER XVIIâ_Where is the Duke?_ CHAPTER XVIIIâ_The Senator and the Securities_ CHAPTER XIXâ_In the Crypt_ CHAPTER XXâ_In the Muniment Room_ CHAPTER XXIâ_The Honor of the House_ LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Leonie Sherman A countrywoman of yours. I wonder if you know her? The procession of three led by the stranger. I am very far from being indifferent to Mrs. Talmage Eglinton. ââââ CHAPTER Iâ_The Man with the Mandate_ At six oâclock on a May evening, at an uptown corner of Broadway, in New York City, the bowels of the earth opened and disgorged a crowd of weary-faced men and women who scattered in all directions. They were the employees of a huge "dry-goods store," leaving work for the day. It was a stringent rule of the firm that everyone drawing wages, from the smart managers of departments and well-dressed salesladies down to the counting-house drudges and check-boys, should descend into the basement, and there file past the timekeeper and a private detective before passing up a narrow staircase, and so out by a sort of stage-door into the side street. The great plate-glass portals on the main thoroughfare were not for the working bees of this hive of industryâonly for the gay butterflies of fashion by whom they lived. The last to come out was a young man dressed in a threadbare suit of tweeds, that somehow hardly seemed American, either in cut or fabric. There might have been a far-away reminiscence of Perthshire moors clinging to them, or earlier memories of a famous creator in Bond Street; but suggestion of the reach-me-down shops from which New York clerks clothe themselves there was none. A flush of anger was fading on their ownerâs face as he came out into the sunlight, leaving a mild annoyance that presently gave place to a grin. The firmâs detective, rendered suspicious by a bulging pocket, had just searched him, and had failed to apologize on finding the protuberance to be nothing but a bundle of un-eatable sandwiches that were being taken home to confound the landlady of the young manâs cheap boarding-house. The indignity did not rankle long. It was only a detail in the topsy-turvydom that in one short year had changed a subaltern in a crack English cavalry regiment into an ill-paid drudge in a dry-goods store. Twelve months before Charles Hanbury had been playing polo and riding gymkhana races in Upper India, but extravagance beyond his means had brought swift ruin in its train. Tired of helping him out of scrapes, his connections had refused further assistance; and, leaving the Army, he had come out to "the States" with the idea of roughing it on the Western plains. Still misfortune had dogged his steps. A fall down a hatchway on the voyage out had hopelessly lamed him, and he had been compelled to ward off starvation by obtaining his present inglorious berth. His workâadding up columns of figures entered from the sales-ticketsâwas quite irresponsible, and he was paid accordingly. He drew eight dollars a week, of which five went to his boarding-house keeper. Limping up ââ Street, he turned into the Bowery, intending to take his usual homeward route across the big bridge into Brooklyn. Unable to afford a street-car, he walked to and from the store daily, and it was one of his few amusements to study the cosmopolitan life of the teeming and sordid thoroughfare through which his way led. He was still chuckling over the discomfiture of the tame detective, when his eye was caught by a label in a cheap boot-store. "Three dollars the pair," ran the legend, which drew a rueful sigh from one who had paidâand alas! still owedâas many guineas for a pair of dancing-pumps. "I donât suppose theyâd sell me half a pair, for thatâs all it runs to," he muttered, turning regretfully away from the vamped-up frauds, and in so doing jerking the elbow of a passer-by. The victim of his sudden moveâa stout, fair man in a light frock-coat and a Panama straw hatâstopped, and seemed inclined to resent the awkwardness. "I really beg your pardon," the culprit said with easy politeness. "I was so absorbed in my reflections that I forgot for the moment that the Bowery requires cautious steering." "You are an Englishman?" returned the other, with a milder countenance. "So am I. No need to apologize. As a fellow-countryman in foreign parts, permit me to offer you some liquid refreshment. In other words, come into that dive next door and have a drink." With an imperceptible shrug, Mr. Hanbury allowed himself to be persuaded. He would lose his supper at his boarding-house by the irregularity, but dissipation seldom came his way nowadays, and the prospect of whisky at some one elseâs expense was tempting. Yes, he had fallen low enough for that! The stout Englishman somehow conveyed the impression that he would not expect to be treated in return by his new acquaintance, who was prepared to take advantage of his liberality. To do him justice, Hanburyâs complacence was not entirely due to spirituous longings, but to a homesick instinct aroused by the Cockney accent of the vulgar stranger. The garish underground saloon into which they descended was almost empty at that early hour of the evening. Drinks having been set before them at one of the circular tables, the host subjected his guest to a scrutiny so searching that its object broke into a laugh. "You are sizing me up pretty closely," he remarked, with a touch of annoyance. "Exactly; but not so as to give offence, I hope," was the reply. "I should like to know your name, if you have no objection." "HanburyâCharles Hanbury. Perhaps you will make the introduction mutual?" said the younger man, appeased by the otherâs conciliatory manner. "Call me Jevons," the stout man answered. "Now look here, Mr. Hanbury; itâs not my game to begin our acquaintance under false pretences. The fact is, I contrived that you should jostle me just now, and so give me a chance to speak. I spotted you as an Englishman and a gentleman a fortnight ago, and Iâve noticed you pass along the Bowery every day since. I am in need of an Englishman, who is also a gentleman, to take on a job with a fortuneâa moderate fortuneâat the back of it." "You can hardly have mistaken me for an investor," said Hanbury, with a quizzical glance at his threadbare seams and dilapidated boots. "Believe me, I am a very broken-down gentleman; but still, my gentility survives, I suppose, and I am willing to treat it as a commercial asset, if that is what you mean." Mr. Jevons gulped down his liquor without comment and did not utter another word till the glasses had been replenished. Then, hitching his chair closer, he produced a pocket-book from which he extracted five one-hundred-dollar notes. "Before we leave this place I shall hand these over to you for preliminary expensesâif we come to terms," he said, watching the effect of the display on his companionâs face. Satisfied with the eager glance in the tired eyes, he proceeded more confidentially: "There is a risk to be run, but it doesnât amount to much; and if the scheme comes off it will set you on your legs again. Part of this money you will have to spend in a first-class passage to England by the next steamer, and thereâll be plenty more for you on arrival." "My dear friend, you seem to be a sort of Aladdin. If you only knew the existence I have been leading here, without the courage to terminate it, you would be assured of my answer," replied Hanbury, wondering but not caring much what was expected of him. To escape from his dry-goods drudgery and return to England with money in his pocket and the prospect of moreâwhy, the ex-cavalry officer felt that he would loot the Crown Jewels for that! And he said so in so many words. "Then youâre the man for us," was the verdict of Mr. Jevons. "Itâs a bit on the crossânot burglary, but a little matter of planting some beautifully imitated paper. Is that too steep for you?" Hanbury made a wry face, but answered without hesitation: "Aiding a forgery isnât quite the road to fortune I should have chosen, but beggarsâyou know the maxim. Society hasnât been too kind to me, and I donât see why I should range myself on its side. Yes, Iâll do it; and if Iâm caught, stone-breaking at Portland wonât be any worse than adding up figures in a subterranean counting-house. Let me have the particulars, Mr. Jevons, and Iâll see it through to the best of an ability that hasnât much to recommend it." "You shall have the particulars," said the other; then stopped, and laughed rather nervously. "You must understand that I am but a subordinate in this matter, and we have reached the only unpleasant part of my task," he went on. "It is not congenial to have to use a threatâeven a confidential one; yet I am instructed to do so, before I enlighten you further." The rascalâs concern was unmistakably genuine; and Hanbury, with the good-humored tolerance of his class, hastened to reassure him. "Go on; I can guess what you have to discloseâthe pains and penalties for breach of faith, eh?" Jevons nodded, and bent his shiny, perspiring face nearer. "It is a big thing, involving enormous outlay and the interests of an organization commanding great resources," he whispered. "Your life wouldnât be worth five minutesâ purchase if you deserted us after you had been entrusted with the details. Now, will you have them on those conditions, or shall we say âGood-nightâ to each other?" Hanbury stretched out his hand impatiently for the notes. "Pray satisfy my curiosity, and let me have them on those conditions," he said. "My life is of no earthly value to me. Besides, with all my faults, Iâm not one to turn back after putting my hand to the plough. If I do, by all means give me my quietus as mercifully as may be." "Then here goes," whispered Jevons, mouth to ear. "The game is the planting of faked United States Treasury Bonds on the Bank of England to the tune of three million sterlingâpounds, not dollars, you know. You will proceed to England by the _St. Paul_, sailing for Southampton the day after to-morrow, and on arrival in London you will at once call on Mr. Clinton Ziegler, at the Hotel Cecil. He is our chief, and will give you final instructions as to your part in the campaign. Youâll find him a handsome paymaster." "I look forward to making Mr. Zieglerâs acquaintance with interest," replied Hanbury, pocketing the notes which the other passed to him. "Am I to have the pleasure of your company on the voyage?" "Iâm afraid not; my work is here," said Jevons. "Andâwell, itâs not altogether healthy for me on the other side." The confession was accompanied by a wink which forcibly brought it home to the recruit that he had joined the criminal classes. His new friendâ"pal," he supposed he ought to call himâevidently thought him worthy of personal confidence. They had another drink together at the bar, and parted outside the saloon, Hanbury making his belated way towards Brooklyn. Once or twice he turned abruptly to see if he was being followed, but the aggressive white Panama hat was nowhere visible, the conclusion being obvious that the astute Mr. Jevons had ascertained his domicile, as well as his place of employment, before broaching his delicate business. Tramping along the teeming Bowery and across the footway of the mighty bridge, the ex-hussar enjoyed to the full the exultation of feeling money in his pocket once more. It was not much, and it was as good as spent already in the cost of a passage and an outfit; but it was the earnest of more to come, and, above all, it franked the exile home to England. At the price of his honor, perhaps? Well, yes; but what was honor to a dry-goods clerk at eight dollars a week? He might have taken a different view two years ago, when honor stood for something in his creed; but not now, with the world against him. Entering the sordid boarding-house, he mounted to his top-floor bedroom, aware that he had forfeited his supper of beef-hash, and that it was too late to go to the dining-room in quest thereof. His eyrie under the roof, flanked on one side by the apartment of a German car-driver and on the other by that of an Irish porter, was furnished with little else than a bed and a toilet-table. On the toilet-table lay a telegram addressed to himâthe first he had received since he had been in America. The unwonted sight caused his hands to tremble a little as he tore it open, but they trembled a good deal more as he read the fateful words: "_Your uncle and cousin have been killed in a railway accident. Come to England at once. Have cabled a thousand pounds to Morganâs to your credit.âPattisons._" "Pattisons" were the family solicitors, and he who a moment before had called himself Charles Hanbury now knew that his true description would appear in the next issue of "Debrett" as "Charles Augustus Trevor Fitzroy Hanbury, seventh Duke of Beaumanoir," with a rent-roll of two hundred thousand a year. And he stood committed, on pain of assassination, to aid and abet in the palming off of bogus bonds on the Bank of England! CHAPTER IIâ_On Board the_ St. Paul The _St. Paul_ sped eastwards across the summer sea, and surely of all the human hopes and fears carried by the great liner those locked in the breast of the new Duke were the most momentous. To gain a little breathing time, he had booked his passage as plain Charles Hanbury. In the brief interval before sailing he had seen no more of Jevons, but he guessed that that shrewd practitioner would have watched him, or had him watched, on board, even if there was not a spy upon him among his fellow-passengers; and he wished to let it be inferred that his voyage was undertaken solely in observance of the compact made in the Bowery dive. For as yet he was by no means certain of his attitude towards that compact. It was true that the cast-off wastrel of two days ago was now one of the premier peers of England, hastening home to take possession of his fortune and estates. But where was the good of being a duke if you were to be a dead duke? he argued with a cynicism bred of his misfortunes rather than innate. There had been a genuine ring about the proposal of Jevons that left no doubt as to the reality of the menace held out; the manâs reluctance in broaching the penalty of desertion carried conviction that it was no mere flower of speech. On the whole, the Duke was inclined to call on the arch rogue at the Hotel Cecil before incurring a risk that might render his dukedom a transitory possession. Then, if the part he was expected to play proved to be within his powers and without much chance of detection, he might still elect to play it, and so enjoy in security his hereditary privileges. It will be seen that the seventh Duke of Beaumanoir was not troubled with moral scruples, and that the principle of _noblesse oblige_ had no place as yet in his somewhat seared philosophy. It was enough for the moment that he had gained something worth having and keeping, and he meant to have it and keep it by the most efficacious method. Whether that method would prove to be connivance in a gigantic crime or the denouncement of the latter to Scotland Yard could only be decided by a personal interview with the mysterious Ziegler. Yes, he would pay that visit to the Hotel Cecil, at any rate, and be guided by what passed there as to his future course of action. "A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Hanbury," said a gay voice at his elbow, as on the third day of the voyage he leaned over the rail of the promenade deck and ruminated on his dilemma. Wheeling round he looked down into the laughing eyes of a girl, a very dainty and charming girl, who sat next him at the saloon table. No formal introduction had taken place between them, for lack of mutual friends; but he had learned from the card designating her place at table that she was Miss Leonie Sherman, and it is to be presumed that she had gathered his name in the same way. "I will earn that penny," he said with mock gravity. "I was debating how far one might legitimately carry the principle of doing evil that good might come." It was a strange answer to make to a shipboard acquaintance of three days, and Miss Sherman regarded him with a newly awakened interest. "It depends," she said, "whether the good is to accrue to yourself or to other people." "Oh, to myself," he replied, smiling. "I am not a philanthropistâquite the other way about." "Then, whatever it is, you oughtnât to do it," said the girl, decidedly. "It will be horrid of you to as much as contemplate anything of the kind. You had much better do good lest evil befall; and the opportunity occurs right here, at this very moment." "I shall be most happyâwithout prejudice to my intentions as to the reverse of the medal," said Beaumanoir, lightly. "Then help me to avoid a lecture from my mother by taking me for a promenade," proceeded Leonie, indicating a portly lady who had ascended from the lower deck and was peering about in search. "She is the best and dearest of mothers, but she has set her heart on a vain thing, and it is becoming the least bit tiresome. I can see that she is going to din it into me again, if she catches me. Her idea is that the sole duty of an American girl going to England is to âspread herself,â as they say out West, to marry an English duke." His Grace of Beaumanoir listened with an unmoved countenance. "Yes," he said, "to marry a duke mightâprobably wouldâbe an unmitigated evil. I will help you to avoid it with pleasure. Let us walk by all means, Miss Sherman, if you donât mind my awkward limp." So they joined the procession of promenaders, and there and then cemented a friendship which ripened quickly, as friendships between the opposite sexes do at sea. The haughty salesladies of the dry-goods store had not deigned to notice the counting-house drudge, and Leonieâs piquant beauty made instant captive of one who had been deprived of the society of women for over a year. She had all the frank _camaraderie_ of the well-bred American, and her eager anticipations of the good time she was to have in Europe were infectious. In her company Beaumanoir was able to forget the dark shadow hanging over him, and to give himself up to the enjoyment of the hour. He began by being deeply grateful to her for taking him out of himself; and gratitude to a charming girl with a ravishing figure and a complexion of tinted ivory is like to have its heels trod by a warmer sentiment. Leonie, in her turn, was interested in the reserved young Englishman, who had so little to say about his doings in America, and less about his position and prospects in his native land. As he paced with his slight limp at her side or lounged with her at the rail, she tried to draw him out; but she could get nothing from him but that he had been in New York on business, and that business was taking him home. Yet, though reticent on his own affairs, he talked freely about all that concerned herself, and painted vivid word-pictures of the delights that awaited her in London. The girl, having nothing to conceal, told him freely of herself and of her plans and projects. She and her mother were going to stay with English friends in London till the end of the season, when perhaps they would run over to Paris and Rome for a month before returning to America in the autumn. Her father, Senator Sherman, was to have accompanied them; but he had been detained by public business at Washington, and was to join them a little later in London. On the fifth day of the voyage, as the _St. Paul_ was approaching the Irish coast, Leonie and Beaumanoir were sitting on deck after dinner, chatting in the twilight, when she suddenly laid her hand on his arm. "I want you to notice that man who has just gone byâthe one smoking the fag-end of a cigar in a holder," she whispered, with a gesture towards the stream of passengers passing and repassing between the rows of chairs. Beaumanoirâs gaze followed her indication to an insignificant little figure in a brown covert-coat and tweed cap. "Yes. What of him?" he asked. He had not spoken to this passenger, but now that attention was called to him he had an idea that the fellow had loomed largely during the last few days. "That man is watching you, Mr. Hanbury," replied Leonie with conviction. "I wonder you havenât observed it yourself. Whenever you are talking he hangs about trying to listen; when you are on deck he is on deck; if you go below, he goes below. If you were a fugitive from justice, and he a detective, he couldnât shadow you more closely." The Duke winced inwardly. "I am not a fugitive from justice," he said, with the mental addition of "yet." He could not tell this laughing maiden that the man was probably spying on him in the interest, not of justice, but of crimeâto see that he was true to a pledge to place forged bonds; for now that he had been put on his guard he had no doubt that his pretty informant was right. The stranger occupied the cabin next to him, and was always hovering near him in the smoking-room, unobtrusively but persistently. Thanking the girl for her warning in a careless tone that implied that he had no reason to be anxious, he changed the subject. But before he turned in that night he made it his business to ascertain from his bedroom steward the name of his next-door neighbor, which proved to be Marker. "Probably Mr. Markerâs functions are confined to espionage. If that is a sample of the sort of bravo to be employed should I kick over the traces, I havenât much to fear," he reflected, as he switched off the electric light and composed himself to dream of Leonie Sherman. CHAPTER IIIâ_A Task-master in Goggles_ The next morning the _St. Paul_ arrived at Southampton, but Beaumanoir contrived to secure a seat in the same compartment of the boat-train, and his parting with his new friends was therefore deferred till they reached Waterloo. He was sorely tempted to enlist the elder ladyâs favor by making known his proper style and rank; though, to do her justice, Mrs. Shermanâs fondness for the peerage was largely a humorous fiction on her daughterâs part. The Senatorâs wife was really a simple-minded body, with an abiding admiration for the unattainable, and the British aristocracy was naturally included in that category. But the sight of Mr. Markerâs covert-coat hovering near them on the arrival platform checked the Dukeâs intention, which the next moment was rendered unnecessary by Mrs. Sherman herself. "Come and see us, Mr. Hanbury," she said, extending the tips of her fingers in farewell. "We are to be the guests of some good friends of ours at 140 Grosvenor Gardens, and we know them well enough to make ourselves at home. The Senator will be over in a week or two, and heâll be glad to thank you for your politeness." "I will pay my respects without fail," Beaumanoir responded; and a minute later, after a warmer pressure of Leonieâs well-gloved hand, he stood watching their cab with its load of "saratogas" drive down the incline. By the void in his heart he knew that the girl in the coquettish toque, who had just repeated her motherâs invitation with her eyes, was all the world to him. He turned to look after his scanty baggage with a sigh. How different it would all have been if he had chosen some other route to his Brooklyn boarding-house on the eventful night when the plausible Jevons had waylaid him! All would have been plain sailing, and he could have asked Leonie with a clear conscience to share his new-found honors and wealth. As it was he stood committed to a felonious enterprise which would fill her with contempt and loathing did she know of it; though, if he abandoned it, instinct told him he was a doomed man. The sight of the insignificant spy Marker lurking behind a pile of luggage reminded him that his peril might commence at any moment if he showed any sign of inconstancy to his pledge. Not that he anticipated trouble from the covert-coated whippersnapper himself; but the mere fact of it having been thought worth while to shadow him across the Atlantic spelled danger, and suggested an organization that would stop at nothing to safeguard itself. However, he had made up his mind to call on the mysterious Ziegler, and by doing so at once he might prove his fidelity and secure a respite from this unpleasant espionage. Summoning a hansom, he bade the driver take him to the Hotel Cecil, and looking back he saw Marker following in another cab. In the few minutes that elapsed before he was driven into the courtyard of the palatial hotel he settled a problem that had been vexing him not a little during the voyage. Should he introduce himself to Ziegler as the Duke of Beaumanoir or as plain Charles Hanbury, the name by which he had been "engaged"? If he was for a brief space to be the consort of professional thieves, he would prefer to lead a double lifeâto perform his misdeeds as a commoner, and to keep his dukedom spotless. So it was that he gave his name as Hanbury to the clerk in the bureau of the hotel. While waiting the return of the bell-boy who was sent to announce his arrival, Beaumanoir looked about for Marker, but the spy was nowhere visible in or from the entrance-hall. Having shepherded him to the fold, it was evidently no part of his duty to obtrude himself till further orders. A minute later the neophyte in crime was limping up the grand staircase in wake of the bell-boy, who conducted him to one of the best private suites on the first floor overlooking the Embankment. It was a moment charged with electricity as the Duke of Beaumanoir found himself face to face with the man who had hired him in his poverty, and now held him fetter-bound in his good fortune. "Yet could this be heâthis personification of aged helplessness lying among the cushions of an invalid chair, who, in a thin, piping treble, requested his visitor to come closer? Beaumanoir had pictured all sorts of ideals of the master in crime, but Mr. Clinton Ziegler in the flesh resembled none of them. A snowy beard covered the lower half of his face, drooping over his chest, but the puffy cheeks were visible, and their full purple hue betokened some cutaneous affection. The eyes were shaded by blue glasses. "You are the person sent by Jevons from New York?" he began in his parrot-like tones. "Good! What is your name? For the moment I have forgotten it, and I cannot lay my hand on the cablegram relating to you." Encouraged by the feeble senility of one whom he had expected to find a tower of strengthâa grim, inscrutable being with an inscrutable mannerâthe Duke was confirmed in his intention to preserve the secret of his rank. "My name is Charles Hanbury," he answered, boldly. But an awakening, instant and complete, was in store for him. The words were hardly out of his mouth when Mr. Ziegler coughed a signal, and three masked men rushed upon him from the adjoining bedroom, pinioning his arms and stifling his sudden cry of alarm. "What shall we do with him, sir?" asked one of the men. "Chloroform him first; then you must dispose of him at leisure," came the monotonous piping treble from the invalid chair. One of the assailants made immediate preparations for obeying the behest, but just as he was about to saturate a handkerchief Ziegler laughed shrilly: "Let him alone, boys. He lied to me, and I wanted to give him a lessonâthatâs all." 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 assured that they will be detected and dealt with." The Duke straightened his rumpled collar, and looked, as he felt, a beaten man. The mass 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 manâs 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 glasses. "A gentleman, acting on behalf of the United States Government, will shortly bring to this country the three million poundsâ worth of Treasury bonds which we mean to have. It will be your task to relieve him of the paper, substituting 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 Dukeâs heart and kept him speechless with amazement. This old scoundrel seemed to know everything, to have arranged everything, irrespective of time and space. "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 girlâs confidence, and that of her motherâthe latter will be easy under the auspices of your new dignityâand come here again at twelve oâclock on Saturday 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 IVâ_The Lady in the Landau_ Beaumanoir passed 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 Zieglerâs 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 âyour Graceâ I should be calling you? What the dickens are you doing here?" said the young man who had overtaken him. Beaumanoirâs harassed brows cleared as he met Alec Forsythâs 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 Pattisonsâ in Lincolnâs 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? Whoâs Ziegler?" asked Forsyth, looking puzzled by his sudden confusion. "No, I havenât been to those rooms, but to the suite beyond. A duty call on a certain Mrs. Talmage Eglinton, but, thank goodness, she wasnât at home. Now about yourself, Charley. Fortune smiles again, eh?" "Itâs only a sickly grin at present," Beaumanoir replied, dejectedly. "See here, Alec; Iâve 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 friendâs 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 solicitorâs cablegram, and enlightened Beaumanoir as to the manner of his succession to the title. 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 Priorâs 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 Hanburyâs acquaintance, then?" he asked. "Yes, since your departure for America," was the reply. "I had the pleasure of meeting her first at my uncleâs in Grosvenor GardensâGeneral Sadgroveâs, you know. I dare say you remember him?" "Oh, yes; I remember the General wellâa shrewd old party with eyes like gimlets," said Beaumanoir. "But whatâs 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, thatâs where the Shermans are going to stay. Some friends of mine whoâwho 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 unawaresâa future Duchess?" To the young Scotsmanâs 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. "Donât 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 Â£230 per annum. Not a brilliant prospect. When Iâm 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. "Iâll give you eight hundred a year to begin with, and rises up to two thousand; and you can have the dower-house at Priorâs Tarrant to live in. Call yourself private secretary, bailiff, anything you pleaseâonly come. The fact isâwell, Iâve been a bit shaken byâby what Iâve gone through. I want someone near me whoâs more than a mere hireling." It was Forsythâs 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 Pattisonsâ," he said. "Then weâll go on to Piccadilly and take possession." The business at the lawyersâ, 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 Dukeâs household. "But she can be little more than a child," Beaumanoir protested. "Anyhow, I canât keep a cousin of eighteen on as _my_ housekeeper without setting Mrs. Grundyâs tongue wagging. The question arises what to do with her. Old Pattison tells me she is well provided for, but I donât like telling her to clear out if it does not occur to her to go. What sort is she, Alec?" "Thatâs 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 couldnât very well ask her. There you have it, my noble patron, in a nutshell." Beaumanoir patted his friendâs 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 havenât answered my question, which Iâll put in another way. How is she likely to take my appearance on the scene?" "Iâm afraid sheâs rather prejudiced. Her brother George didnât 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 donât 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 hadnât been drowned on the voyage home." "Good girl!" ejaculated the Duke. "The unexpressed hope did her much honor, only itâs a pity it didnât come off. Now, Alec, if youâll see her firstâshe neednât see me at all if she doesnât wish toâand tell her from me that sheâs not to hurry out of the house, because Iâm going to oscillate between Priorâs Tarrant and a hotel for the present, I shall be immensely obliged to you." "But you said just now that you were going to take possession." "I have changed my mind. There are reasons which I cannot explain to you why my immediate neighborhood is likely to be dangerous for the present. I should be sorry to subject my fair cousin to any unpleasantness. Though not a word of this to her or anyone else, please." The cab was drawing up before the ducal mansion, and Forsyth forbore to put into words the astonishment which he looked. As the two men were about to ascend the steps to the entrance, a landau, which was being driven slowly by, drew to the curb, and a lady who, besides the servants, was the sole occupant, called out: "Surely youâre not going to cut me, Mr. Forsyth. Too proud to know poor little me, eh, now that youâve taken to calling on dukes?" A murmur of annoyance escaped Forsyth, but perforce he went to the carriage and shook the daintily gloved hand held out to him. "How do you do, Mrs. Talmage Eglinton?" he said, adding the reproving whisper, "That _is_ the Duke." The lady in the landau raised her lorgnettes and calmly surveyed the waiting nobleman. "How very interesting!" she purred, adding aloud so that the subject of her request could not fail to hear, "Why donât you introduce him, instead of keeping him standing there? We Americans are death on dukes, you know." At a gesture from Forsyth, who tried to convey his disgust by a look, Beaumanoir limped forward, smiling. His misfortunes had made him something of a democrat, and he had always been ready to see the comic side of things till tragedy that morning had claimed him for its own. In meeting the advances of the agent Jevons in the Bowery saloon he had been largely influenced by the humor of the situationâof the scion of a ducal house consenting to "get a bit" by passing forged bonds. Mrs. Talmage Eglinton, a handsome blonde with an elegant figure and a childish voice, received the Duke with effusion. "I stopped my carriage to ask Mr. Forsyth to tea on Saturday," she prattled. "I do hope your Grace will come too. I am staying at the Cecil, and shall be delighted to see you." The unblushing effrontery of the invitation failed to strike Beaumanoir in his sudden horror at the associations called up by it. This frivolous butterfly of a woman occupied the next suite of rooms to those in which Ziegler was spinning his villainous webâin which that terrible old man had unfolded to him the details of his treacherous task. Strange, too, that he should be bidden to the mild dissipation of an afternoon tea-table in that hotel, of all others, on the very day when he was due to go there on business so different, for Saturday was the day appointed by Ziegler for his call for "further instructions." Conscious that the mocking eyes of the lady in the landau were watching him with a curious inquiry, he mastered his emotion, and at the same time came to a decision on the vital issue before him. Probably he would have arrived at the same one without the incentive of avoiding an unpalatable engagement, but Mrs. Talmage Eglintonâs invitation to tea was undoubtedly the final influence in setting him on the straight path. "I am very sorry," he replied, and there was a new dignity in his tone, "but I must ask you to excuse me. I am going down to-morrow to Priorâs Tarrant, my place in Hertfordshire, and I shall not be in town on Saturday." For the fraction of a second the rebuffed hostess seemed taken aback by the refusal. She flushed slightly under her powder, and the taper fingers twitched on the handle of her sunshade. But without any appreciable pause she answered gaily: "Thatâs most unkind of you. Well, what must be must be. Good-bye, your Grace. Good-bye, Mr. Forsyth; I shall expect you, anyhow. Drive on, Bennett." The carriage rolled away. "I am glad you snubbed her," Forsyth exclaimed. "She has been made a good deal of in certain circles during the last month or two, and presumes a lot on the strength of it." "Did I snub her?" said the Duke carelessly. "I am sure I didnât mean to, for she deserves better things of me. Youâd hardly believe it, Alec, but that little episode has jerked me into deciding a crucial pointâno less than whether to be a man or a cur. At the same time it has put me quite outside the pale as a resident under the same roof as my cousin. On second thoughts, I will not go in at all, but I shall be obliged if you will see her and convey the message I gave youâthat Beaumanoir House is at her disposal till she can quite conveniently leave it." "But what are you going to do yourself?" said Forsyth in sheer bewilderment. "First I shall go to Bond Street, to gladden the hearts of some of my old creditors; then by an evening train to Priorâs Tarrant," was the reply. "And, Alec," proceeded the Duke earnestly, "if you can get leave from the Foreign Office, pending retirement, and join me there as soon as possible, you will place me under a very deep obligation." CHAPTER Vâ_Ziegler Begins to Move_ On the following Sunday morning the Duke of Beaumanoir stood at one of the windows of the long library at Priorâs Tarrant, idly beating a tattoo on the glass. The June sunshine flooded the bosky leafage of the glorious expanse of park, and nearer still the parterres of the old Dutch garden were gay with summer bloom; but the beauties of the landscape were lost upon the watcher at the window. Nearly four and twenty hours had elapsed since he had failed to keep his appointment with Mr. Ziegler, and he was wondering how and when that autocrat of high-grade crime would signalize his displeasure at the mutiny. That sooner or later an edict would issue against him from the invalid chair in the first-floor suite he had not the slightest doubt. He knew that he had to deal with men playing a great game for a great stake in deadly earnest. The Dukes of Beaumanoir had never been famous for their virtues, any more than they had been cowards, and it was rather a dawning sense of responsibility than fear, either for his reputation or his person, that filled him
{'title': 'The Duke Decides by Headon Hill', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}