Mr. Nape stole a glance at him and saw the gloomy frown. "It was the face" (I quote Mr. Nape's secret diary) "of a man haunted with the memory of his black past."
With great solemnity the Duke tipped the workman half a crown and led him to the door. When he returned he found Hank doubled up on the divan.
"Ill?" he asked anxiously, "poisoned, by any chance?"
But Hank continued to laugh till he subsided into helpless chuckles.
Curiously enough the Duke, whose sense of humour was of the keenest, did not share in his friend's amusement. He smiled once or twice as he paced the room. Then—
"Hank," he said seriously, "do you think young Sherlock Raffles came here entirely out of curiosity?"
"Sure," said the exhausted Hank.
The Duke shook his head doubtingly.
"There's some little game on that I do not quite fathom. Do you know that the concert has been postponed?"
"No."