This well-bred, well-groomed youth was just the being to realize—­aux bouts des ongles—­a modern type of the devil, the type which depicts him as a perfect gentleman, who keeps smiling all the time.

The constable whom this audacious rogue had signaled approached the little group.  He addressed the stranger: 

“Do you want me, sir?”

“No, I do not want you.  I think it is the Duke of Datchet.”

The constable, who knew the duke very well by sight, saluted him as he turned to receive instructions.

The duke looked white, even savage.  There was not a pleasant look in his eyes and about his lips.  He appeared to be endeavoring to put a great restraint upon himself.  There was a momentary silence.  Mr. Dacre made a movement as if to interpose.  The duke caught him by the arm.

He spoke:  “No, constable, I do not want you.  This person is mistaken.”

The constable looked as if he could not quite make out how such a mistake could have arisen, hesitated, then, with another salute, he moved away.

The stranger was still holding his watch in his hand.

“Only eight minutes,” he said.

The duke seemed to experience some difficulty in giving utterance to what he had to say.

“If I give you this five hundred pounds, you—­you—­”

As the duke paused, as if at a loss for language which was strong enough to convey his meaning, the stranger laughed.

“Let us take the adjectives for granted.  Besides, it is only boys who call each other names—­men do things.  If you give me the five hundred sovereigns, which you have in that bag, at once—­in five minutes it will be too late—­I will promise—­I will not swear; if you do not credit my simple promise, you will not believe my solemn affirmation—­I will promise that, possibly within an hour, certainly within an hour and a half, the Duchess of Datchet shall return to you absolutely uninjured—­except, of course, as you are already aware, with regard to a few of the hairs of her head.  I will promise this on the understanding that you do not yourself attempt to see where I go, and that you will allow no one else to do so.”  This with a glance at Ivor Dacre.  “I shall know at once if I am followed.  If you entertain such intentions, you had better, on all accounts, remain in possession of your five hundred pounds.”

The duke eyed him very grimly.

“I entertain no such intentions—­until the duchess returns.”

Again the stranger indulged in that musical laugh of his.

“Ah, until the duchess returns!  Of course, then the bargain’s at an end.  When you are once more in the enjoyment of her grace’s society, you will be at liberty to set all the dogs in Europe at my heels.  I assure you I fully expect that you will do so—­why not?” The duke raised the canvas bag.  “My dear duke, ten thousand thanks!  You shall see her grace at Datchet House, ’pon my honor, probably within the hour.”