"You call it a
rummy go! Do you know that I am told in this letter that the woman who
entered the carriage was not the duchess? What you were thinking about, or
what case you will be able to make out for yourselves, you know better
than I; but I can tell you this--that in an hour you will leave my
service, and you may esteem yourselves fortunate if, to-night, you are not
both of you sleeping in jail."
One might almost have suspected that the words were spoken in irony. But
before they could answer, another servant entered, who also brought a
letter for the duke. When his grace's glance fell on it he uttered an
exclamation. The writing on the envelope was the same writing that had
been on the envelope which had contained the very singular
communication--like it in all respects, down to the broomstick-end
thickness of the "Private!" and "Very pressing!!!" in the corner.
"Who brought this?" stormed the duke.
The servant appeared to be a little startled by the violence of his
grace's manner.
"A lady--or, at least, your grace, she seemed to be a lady."
"Where is she?"
"She came in a hansom, your grace. She gave me that letter, and said,
'Give that to the Duke of Datchet at once--without a moment's delay!' Then
she got into the hansom again, and drove away."
"Why didn't you stop her?"
"Your grace!"
The man seemed surprised, as though the idea of stopping chance visitors
to the ducal mansion _vi et armis_ had not, until that moment, entered
into his philosophy.
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