“More’s the pity. I’d have found a short way with you then, my friend. Your wanting to marry Muriel is bad enough, your interference with Dinneford is an outrage.”
“In the circumstances I feel it to be my duty to do what I can in an exceedingly delicate matter.”
“Self-interest, sir, that’s all your duty amounts to.” But the Duke was now thoroughly alarmed, and he saw that recrimination was not going to help him. “Tell me,” he said in a tone more conciliatory than he had yet used, “exactly on what ground you are standing?”
“In the first place, there is a very remarkable family likeness.”
“And you base your allegation upon a mere conjecture of that kind!” said the Duke scornfully.
“Upon far more than that, believe me. I have very strong and direct evidence which at the present moment I prefer not to disclose.”
The Duke paused at this bold statement. He turned a basilisk’s eye upon his adversary, but Sir Dugald offered a mask, behind which, as his Grace well knew, lurked unlimited depth and cunning. One thing was clear: a man of this kidney was not likely to venture such a coup without having carefully weighed his resources. In any case there cannot be smoke unless there is fire. A certain amount of knowledge must be in the possession of Maclean; the question was how much, and what use was he prepared to make of it?
“Do I understand,” said the Duke after a moment of deep thought, “that you have spoken of this matter to Mr. Dinneford?”
“I have not yet done so.”
“Or to Miss Lawrence?”