"You're right. The gardeners should direct their attention to her. Shall I give them a hint to that effect?"
"Aye!" said Mr. Bush. "Aye! set them on to her. She wants a-watchin'!"
And he shook his sides with rumbling chuckles which took him like an earthquake. The Duke got up, trying not to glare at this consummate and exquisitely adroit villain, this monument of evil cleverness.
"I'll take your advice," he said. "I'll set them on to her. Night!" And he was gone, leaving Mr. Bush to his raptures.
In the hall his Grace encountered Bliggins in a condition of apparent prostration.
"Watch that red-bearded scoundrel!" the Duke ejaculated. "Watch him! Never let him from under your eyes, and I'll give you half my for—half a sovereign!"
"But it's the black gent with the specs as is the dangerous one, sir," began Bliggins. "He chased me in the pantry as if I was a rat, and——"
"The red-bearded villain—he's the man! He's the fiend, I tell you! Stalk him! Dog his footsteps! Creep after him! Run him down! You sha'n't repent it. Hush! not a word."
The Duke retired up the staircase with the steps of a bandit in old-fashioned grand opera, while Mr. Bush went on gaily chuckling to himself in the amber smoking-room.