“Very proper,” said his Grace.
“Damme, sir, it’s monstrous!”
A gurgling laugh came from Jennifer.
“Oh, was there ever such a boy?” she cried. “What in the world should he want with your horse, sir?”
Mr. Manvers scowled at her.
“Exactly, madam! Exactly! What did he want with my horse? The man’s mad, and should be clapped up! Coggin tells he came running into the village like one demented, with no hat on his head! And not one of those gaping fools had the sense to stop him from seizing my horse! A set of idiots, sir!”
“I can well believe it,” said Avon. “But I do not yet see how your information can help us.”
Mr. Manvers fought with himself.
“Sir, I am not come here to help you!” he raged. “I have come to demand my horse!”
“I would give it you had I it in my possession,” said his Grace kindly. “Unfortunately Lord Rupert has your horse.”
“Then I want its recovery!”
“Do not distress yourself!” Avon advised him. “No doubt he will return it. What I wish to know is, why did Lord Rupert want your horse, and where did he go?”
“If that dolt of a landlord is to be believed,” said Mr. Manvers, “he has gone to Portsmouth.”
“Fleeing the country, evidently,” murmured his Grace. “Was there a lady with Lord Rupert?”
“No, there was not! Lord Rupert went off at a disgraceful pace in pursuit of a coach, or some such nonsense.”
The Duke’s eyes widened.
“Almost I begin to see daylight,” he said. “Proceed.”
Merivale shook his head.
“I’m all at sea,” he confessed. “The mystery grows.”
“On the contrary,” his Grace replied gently. “The mystery is very nearly solved.”
“I don’t understand you—any of you!” exploded Mr. Manvers.
“That was not to be expected,” said Avon. “Lord Rupert, you say, went to Portsmouth in pursuit of a coach. Who was in that coach?”
“Some damned Frenchman, Fletcher said.”
Merivale started; so also did Jennifer.
“Frenchman?” Merivale echoed. “But what did Rupert——”
His Grace was smiling grimly.
“The mystery,” he said, “is solved. Lord Rupert, Mr. Manvers, borrowed your horse to go in pursuit of M. le Comte de Saint-Vire.”
Merivale gasped.
“You knew he was here, then?”
“I did not.”
“Then how a’ God’s name——?”
Again the Duke took snuff.
“Shall we say—intuition, my dear Anthony?”
“But—but why did Rupert pursue Saint-Vire? And—and what was Saint-Vire doing on the road to Portsmouth? He told he was journeying north to visit a friend! This goes beyond me!”
“What I want to know,” Jennifer said, “is, where is Leonie?”
“Ay, that’s the question,” nodded Merivale.
“Your pardon, sir,” interjected Mr. Manvers, “but the question is, where is my horse?”
They turned to the Duke for enlightenment.
“Leonie,” said the Duke, “is by now on the way to France, in company with the Comte de Saint-Vire. Rupert, I imagine, is also on his way to France, for I do not suppose he was in time to intercept them. Mr. Manvers’ horse is in all probability at Portsmouth. Unless, of course, Rupert has taken it to France with him.”
Mr. Manvers collapsed into the nearest chair.
“Taken—taken my horse to France, sir? Oh, it’s monstrous! it’s monstrous!”
“For God’s sake, Avon, be more explicit!” begged Merivale. “Why has Saint-Vire run off with Leonie? He had not even seen her!”
“On the contrary,” said Avon, “he has seen her many times.”
Jennifer rose to her feet.
“Oh, sir, he will not harm her?”
“No, he will not harm her, my lady,” Avon replied, and there was a glint in his eyes. “You see, there will be no time for that. He has Rupert hard on his heels—and me.”
“You’ll go?”
“Of course I shall go. Follow my example, and place your trust in Rupert. It seems I shall live to be grateful to him yet.”
“Alastair, what in God’s name does all this mean?” demanded Merivale. “Rupert himself swore there was a mystery as soon as he saw Leonie’s likeness to Saint-Vire.”
“So Rupert saw that? I appear to have underrated Rupert’s intelligence. I believe I can satisfy your curiosity. Come with me into the library, my dear Merivale.”
Past enmity was forgotten. Anthony went to the door. Mr. Manvers sprang up.
“But all this doesn’t help me to my horse!” he said bitterly.
With his hand on the door Avon paused, and looked back.
“My good sir,” he said haughtily, “I am weary of your horse. It has served its turn, and shall be restored to you.” He went out with Merivale, and shut the door behind him. “So. One moment, Anthony. Johnson!”
The butler came forward.
“Your Grace?”
“Bid them harness Thunderbolt and Blue Peter to the curricle at once, place my large valise in it, and tell one of the women to pack some clothes for Mistress Leonie. Within half an hour, Johnson.”
“Very good, your Grace,” bowed the old man.
“And now, Merivale, this way.”
“By Gad, you’re a cool devil!” exclaimed Merivale, and followed him to the library.
His Grace went to his desk and extracted from it a brace of gold-mounted pistols.
“Briefly, Anthony, the matter is this: Leonie is Saint-Vire’s daughter.”
“I never knew he had a daughter!”
“No one knew. You thought he had a son, perhaps?”
“Yes. Well, naturally! I’ve seen the boy many times.”
“He is no more Saint-Vire’s son than you are,” said his Grace, snapping the breech of one of his pistols. “His name is Bonnard.”
“Good God, Alastair, do you mean to tell me that Saint-Vire had the audacity to exchange the children? Because of Armand?”
“I am delighted to find that you understand the situation so well,” said the Duke. “I beg you will let it go no further, for the time is not yet.”
“Very well, but what a piece of villainy! Does he know that you know?”
“I had best tell you the whole story,” sighed Avon.
When they at length emerged from the library Merivale’s face was a study of mingled emotions, and he appeared to be speechless. Jennifer met them in the hall.
“You are going, sir? You—you will bring her back?”
“That I cannot say,” Avon replied. “She will be safe with me, my lady.”
Her eyes fell.
“Yes, sir, I feel that that is so.”
His Grace looked at her.
“You surprise me,” he said.
She put her hand out, hesitating.
