"That is the half of a sixpence which I gave to the Duchess when I asked her to be my wife. You see it is pierced. I pierced that hole in it myself. As the Duchess says in this letter, and as I have reason to know, she has worn this broken sixpence from that hour to this. If this letter is not hers, how came this token in the envelope? How came any one to know, even, that she carried it?"
Mr. Knowles was silent. He still yielded to his constitutional disrelish to commit himself. At last he asked:
"What is it that your Grace proposes to do?"
The Duke spoke with a bitterness which almost suggested a personal animosity towards the inoffensive Mr. Knowles.
"I propose, with your permission, to release the Duchess from the custody of my estimable correspondent. I propose--always with your permission--to comply with his modest request, and to take him his five hundred pounds in gold." He paused, then continued in a tone which, coming from him, meant volumes: "Afterwards, I propose to cry quits with the concoctor of this pretty little hoax, even if it costs me every penny I possess. He shall pay more for that five hundred pounds than he supposes."
CHAPTER II.
SOUGHT.
The Duke of Datchet, coming out of the bank, lingered for a moment on the steps. In one hand he carried a canvas bag, which seemed well weighted. On his countenance there was an expression which to a casual observer might have suggested that his Grace was not completely at his ease. That casual observer happened to come strolling by. It took the form of Ivor Dacre.
Mr. Dacre looked the Duke of Datchet up and down in that languid way he has. He perceived the canvas bag. Then he remarked, possibly intending to be facetious:
"Been robbing the bank? Shall I call a cart?"