“I cannot believe that his Grace had become embroiled in any quarrel,” at last pronounced Scriven, “Much less in a quarrel of such a nature as you suggest, sir.”
“Were those pistols delivered at this house?” demanded the Captain. “And if they were so delivered, where are they, Scriven?”
There was a pause, while the agent appeared to consider the matter. Then he bowed slightly, and said: “Give me leave, sir, and I will investigate this matter.”
“Do so!” begged the Captain. “For my heart much misgives me! I remember that I cracked some idle jest to the Duke, when he bought the pair! God forgive me, I had no suspicion, not an inkling, that my words might be striking home!”
Mr. Scriven, who had no taste for the dramatic, refrained from comment, and left the room. He returned a few minutes later, and said gravely: “I cannot admit that the very serious suggestion you have, made, sir, may be correct., but I am obliged to own to you that a package was indeed delivered at this house yesterday, and that his Grace—” he paused, and regarded his fingernails. “And that his Grace,” he resumed, in an expressionless tone, “appears to have taken its contents with him.”
Captain Belper clapped a hand to his brow, ejaculating: “Good God!” He took a pace or two about the room. “He did not confide his purpose to me!” he said. “Had he done so—Yet it struck me that he was not himself! There was something of constraint in his manner. And then his avoidance of a further meeting with me! Ah, I see it now, too late! He feared that I, knowing him as well as I flatter myself I do, must have divined his terrible purpose. Scriven, if any mischance has befallen the Duke I dare not hold myself guiltless!”
“I do not anticipate, sir, that his Grace left his house with any such purpose in mind,” said Mr. Scriven precisely. “And if it were so, I would suggest that his skill with all manner of firearms would make it more likely that a mischance should have befallen his adversary.”
“Very true!” the Captain said, much struck. “It was, after all, I who taught him that skill! And yet how daunting is the thought that you now present to me! Can it be that the Duke has killed his man, and fled the country to escape arrest?”
Mr. Scriven, who, in common with most of the Duke’s dependants, cordially disliked Captain Belper, was extremely loth to admit the possibility of any of his theories being correct, but it was evident from his sudden look of consternation that this suggestion carried weight with him.
After a moment, he said: “I prefer not to consider such a shocking event, sir!”