"No," he replied with a shade of anxiety in his voice. "What is it?"
"Blinds down, shutters up—general air of desolation," enumerated Hank.
The Duke looked quickly and raced into the house. The sedate servant (his name was Cole) was folding a serviette.
"Cole," said the Duke sternly, "where are the people next door?"
"Gone, m'lord," said Cole.
"Gone! when did they go! Where have they gone, and why on earth was I not told."
"They went last night, m'lord," said Cole, "they have gone to Bournemouth if I am accurately informed—my source of information is the butcher——"
"The postman would have been better," said the Duke reprovingly.
"The postman is an extremely reticent person and moreover is a radical who does not approve of Us," said Cole. "The butcher, on the contrary, stands for landed interest and the established church."
"Excellent," said the Duke, "proceed."