A friend in the Household was passing at the time and he caught his arm and whispered him a question.
"Yes, of course," he said, turning again to me; "he is the Duke Rittersheim, one of those small German principalities swept away long ago, and of which only the title and the family estates remain."
I turned and took another look at His Serene Highness. Yes, Duke of Rittersheim or not, the red-faced, dark-haired foreigner, who was advancing half cringingly, hat in hand and full of apologies, was none other than Saumarez, the man who had tried to torture me in the tower of Cruft's Folly!
CHAPTER IX
THE DUKE OF RITTERSHEIM
That little rencontre took my nerve away, and I shot very badly at the next plantation, so badly—I missed two birds—that I was almost inclined to give up and go home; but then lunch came—in a marquee—and its luxury and the delightful wine restored me. I shot well again all the afternoon.
Yes, it was a glorious day, and I enjoyed it immensely when I got Saumarez—or His Serene Highness—out of my mind. He was a superb shot, I will say that of him; he fired from the left shoulder as many men do, but in his case I knew it was on account of his glass eye.
Walking to the last plantation with one of the Household and casually discussing all manner of ordinary subjects, I ventured a chance remark concerning the Duke of Rittersheim.
"His Serene Highness is a fine shot," I said, "an old sportsman, it is easy to see."
"Yes," answered my companion, "he is supposed to be one of the finest shots in Germany."