"Well, it is rather gorgeous," he said; "though I never go there, or, at least, hardly ever. But I have a book of photographs here. I will show them to you, Lady Constance, if I may. So far we've succeeded in keeping them out of the illustrated magazines."
"Oh, please do!" she said. "Father, the duke is going to show me some pictures of the rooms of his mysterious great place in Piccadilly."
As she spoke there was a knock upon the door, and the scout came in with a telegram upon a tray.
"I thought I had better bring it at once, sir," he said; "it's marked 'urgent' upon the envelope."
With an apology, the duke opened the flimsy orange-coloured wrapping.
Then he started, his face grew rather paler, and he gave a sudden exclamation. "Good heavens!" he said, "listen to this:
"'Large portion front west wing Paddington House destroyed by explosion an hour ago. Bomb filled with picric acid discovered intact near gateway. The smaller Gainsborough and the Florence vase destroyed. Please come up town immediately.
"'Simpson.'"
There was a dead silence in the room.