"The deuce he is!" the Duke was alert. "Quit fooling, Hank. Our new neighbour——"
"Is Baron Tupping of Tupping," said Hank solemnly, "a perfect English gentleman—I heard him cussin' in the back garden."
"Tuppy!"
The Duke whooped his delight.
He grabbed Hank's arm and the pair raced through the conservatory into the garden.
Somebody next door was annoyed, and his voice rose plaintively.
"Bring the Sacred Ladder," ordered the Duke.
In the middle of the garden stood Tuppy, monocle in eye, hat tilted to the back of his head, and a cigarette drooping feebly, his face expressive of despair.
The Duke hailed him.
"Tuppy, you beggar."