"Woe is me——" he began.
Out of the gloom of the garden leapt a thin spurt of white flame.
There was a crash of glass and a splint of wood flew from the gilded back of the throne.
Instantly came a stinging report, and the light went out—Hank was in reach of the switch, and Hank moved quickly in emergencies like these.
V
Mr. Slewer's attack came unexpectedly and found the Duke unprepared. Once before Mr. Slewer had come to Kymott Crescent, but his arrival had been noted by the observant Hank, and there had been a raid upon a well furnished armoury.
The Duke ran for the conservatory, but Hank's arm caught him.
"Not on your life," he murmured. "If that's Bill he's waitin'—get upstairs an' find your gun. Mine's hangin' behind the door of my room."
He heard the Duke mount the stairs with flying feet, and cautiously opened the conservatory door that led to the garden.
"Hullo, you Bill," he said softly, but there came no answer. Disregarding the sage advice he had given to the Duke he stepped swiftly into the darkness. He sank down flat on the wet grass and peered left and right. There was no sign of any intruder, but he was too old a campaigner to trust overmuch to first appearances.