"My dear Datchet, I'm entirely at your service. I can be every whit as insane as you, I do assure you."
Side by side they moved rapidly down the Burlington Arcade. The Duke was obviously in a state of the extremest nervous tension. Mr. Dacre was equally obviously in a state of the most supreme enjoyment. People stared as they rushed past. The Duke saw nothing. Mr. Dacre saw everything, and smiled.
When they reached the Piccadilly end of the Arcade the Duke pulled up. He looked about him. Mr. Dacre also looked about him.
"I see nothing of your white-hatted and gardenia-button-holed friend," said Ivor.
The Duke referred to his watch:
"It's not yet half-past five. I'm up to time."
Mr. Dacre held his stick in front of him and leaned on it. He indulged himself with a beatific smile:
"It strikes me, my dear Datchet, that you've been the victim of one of the finest things in hoaxes----"
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
The voice which interrupted Mr. Dacre came from the rear. While they were looking in front of them some one approached from behind, apparently coming out of the shop which was at their backs.