The Duke frowned across at me.

“Neither do I, Ducaine,” he declared.  “It is not a question of veracity at all.  It is a question of construction.  You are young, and these things are all new to you.  The Prince might have been trying you, or something which you did not hear or have forgotten might throw a different light upon his actions and suggestion.  I beg that you will leave the matter entirely in my hands.”

I abandoned the subject then and there.  But as I left the room I came face to face with Blenavon, who was loitering outside.  He at once detained me.  His manner since the morning had altered.  He addressed me now with hesitation, almost with respect.

“Can you spare me a few minutes, Mr. Ducaine?” he asked.  “I will not detain you long.”

“I am at your service, Lord Blenavon,” I answered.  “We will go into the hall and have a smoke,” he suggested, leading the way.  “To me it seems the only place in the house free from draughts.”

I followed him to where, in a dark corner of the great dome-shaped hall, a wide cushioned lounge was set against the wall.  He seated himself and motioned me to follow his example.  For several moments he remained silent, twisting a cigarette with thin nervous fingers stained yellow with nicotine.  Every now and then he glanced furtively around.  I waited for him to speak.  He was Lady Angela’s brother, but I disliked and distrusted him.

He finally got his cigarette alight, and turned to me.

“Mr. Ducaine,” he said, “I want you to apologize to my friend, the Prince of Malors, for your behaviour this afternoon.”

“Apologize to the Prince!” I exclaimed.  “Why should I?”

“Because this is the only condition on which he will consent to remain here.”

“I should have thought,” I said, “that his immediate departure was inevitable.  I detected him in behaviour—­”

“That is just where you are wrong,” Blenavon interrupted eagerly.  “You were mistaken, entirely mistaken.”

I laughed, a little impolitely, I am afraid, considering that this was the son of my employer.

“You know the circumstances?” I asked.  He nodded.

“The Prince has explained them to me.  It was altogether a misunderstanding.  He felt his foot a little easier, and he was simply looking for a newspaper or something to read until you returned.  Inadvertently he turned over some of your manuscript, and at that moment you entered.”

“Most inopportunely, I am afraid,” I answered, with an unwilling smile.  “I am sorry, Lord Blenavon, that I cannot accept this explanation of the Prince’s behaviour.  I am compelled to take the evidence of my eyes and ears as final.”

Blenavon sucked at his cigarette fiercely for a minute, threw it away, and commenced to roll another.

“It’s all rot!” he exclaimed.  “Malors wouldn’t do a mean action, and, besides, what on earth has he to gain?  He is a fanatical Royalist.  He is not even on speaking terms with the Government of France to-day.”