“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 me he was journeying north to visit a friend! This goes beyond me!”
“What I want to know,” Jennifer said, “is, where is Léonie?”
“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.
“Léonie,” 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 Léonie? 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 Léonie’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 Léonie. 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: Léonie 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.
“She has told me so much. I cannot but be sure of your—kindness.” She paused. “Sir, what—what lies between you and me is past, and should be forgotten.”
His Grace bowed over her hand; his lips were smiling.
“Jenny, if I said that I had forgotten you would be offended.”
“No,” she answered, and a laugh trembled in her voice. “I should be glad.”
“My dear, I desire nothing better than to please you.”
“I think,” she said, “that there is one now who holds a greater place in your heart than ever I held.”
“You err, Jenny. I have no heart,” he replied.
A silence fell. It was broken by a lackey.
“Your Grace, the curricle waits.”
“How will you cross?” Merivale asked.
“In the Silver Queen. She lies in Southampton Water. Unless Rupert has already commandeered her. If that should chance to be so, I suppose I must hire a vessel.”
Mr. Manvers came up.
“Sir, I will not stay with that woman who has the vapours,” he said. “It is very well for you to say you are weary of my horse, but I want its instant recovery!”
The Duke had donned his great-cloak, and now he picked up his hat and gloves.
“My Lord Merivale will be charmed to assist you,” he said, with the glimmering of a smile. He bowed low to them all, and was gone.
XIX
Lord Rupert Wins the Second Trick
Léonie awoke, sighing. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her, and for a few minutes she lay with closed eyes, in semi-consciousness. By degrees she shook off the effects of the drug, and struggled up, a hand to her head. She looked about her in bewilderment, and found that she was on a couch in a strange apartment, alone.
