"I have never had a moustache," he said haughtily, for he had heard a little titter.
"Strange," mused the Duke, "and yet I could have sworn that the last time we met—forgive me, I must have been mistaken."
"By the way, Mr. Nape," drawled the tired voice of Hank, "that electric battery you repaired don't work worth a cent."
The great and appalling truth came to Mr. Nape slowly. In a dazed way he managed to reached the outskirts of the throng about his host and sank into a chair.
His moustache! the electric battery! he groaned in spirit.
"Say, Mr. Nape,"—Hank was by his side—"you'll keep the matter dark—you know. What you heard this morning—we'll split the tiara or I'll toss you for the diamond necklace."
Roderick rose with dignity.
"Mr. Hankey, you are an American and you cannot understand my feelings, but I consider I have been treated most——"
"Mrs. and Miss Terrill," announced the grave man-servant, and Hank lost all interest in Mr. Roderick Nape.
He gave a quick glance at the Duke and grinned, for the scarlet-faced young man for the first and last time in his life lost his head and grew incoherent.