I held myself a little more upright.  The Duke spoke without enthusiasm, but with conviction.

“Your Grace is very kind,” I answered gratefully, “but there are the others.  They know nothing of me.  It is inevitable that I should become an object of suspicion to them.”

The Duke looked thoughtfully for several moments at the table before him.  Then he looked up at me.

“Ducaine,” he said, “I will tell you what I propose.  You have done your duty in reporting this thing to me.  Your duty ends there—­mine begins.  The responsibility, therefore, for our future course of action remains with me.  You, I presume, are prepared to admit this.”

“Certainly, your Grace,” I answered.

“I see no useful purpose to be gained,” the Duke continued, “in spreading this thing about.  I believe that we shall do better by keeping our own counsel.  You and I can work secretly in the matter.  I may have some suggestions to make when I have considered it more fully; but for the present I propose that we treat the matter as a hallucination of yours.  We shall hear in due course if this stolen information goes across the water.  If it does—­well, we shall know how to act.”

“You mean this?” I asked breathlessly.  “Forgive me, your Grace, but it means so much to me.  You believe that we are justified?”

“Why not?” the Duke asked coldly.  “It is I who am your employer.  It is I who am responsible to the country for these things.  You are responsible only to me.  I choose that you remain.  I choose that you speak of this matter only when I bid you speak.”

To me it was relief immeasurable.  The Duke’s manner was precise, even cold.  Yet I felt that he believed in me.  I scarcely doubted but that he had suspicions of his own.  I, at any rate, was not involved in them.  I could have wrung him by the hand but for the inappropriateness of such a proceeding.  So far as he was concerned I could see that the matter was already done with.  His attention was beginning to wander to the mass of letters before him.

“Would you allow me to help your Grace with your correspondence?” I suggested.  “I have no work at present.”

The Duke shook his head impatiently.

“I thank you,” he said.  “My man of business will be here this morning, and he will attend to them.  I will not detain you, Mr. Ducaine.”

I turned to leave the room, but found myself face to face with a young man in the act of entering it.

“Blenavon!” the Duke exclaimed.

“How are you, sir?” the newcomer answered.  “Sorry I didn’t arrive in time to see you last night.  We motored from King’s Lynn, and the whole of this respectable household was in bed.”

I knew at once who he was.  The Duke looked towards me.

“Ducaine,” he said, “this is my son, Lord Blenavon.”

Lord Blenavon’s smile was evidently meant to be friendly, but his expression belied it.  He was slightly taller than his father, and his cast of features was altogether different.  His cheeks were pale, almost sunken, his eyes were too close together, and they had the dimness of the roue or the habitual dyspeptic.  His lips were too full, his chin too receding, and he was almost bald.