"The police," Peckover suggested promptly, trying to catch boldness from Gage's attitude.
The duke burst into a loud and particularly unpleasant laugh. "The police? Really, your graces compel my amusement. May I ask you three questions?"
"Three dozen, if you like," answered Gage unsteadily.
The duke accepted the bounty with a bow. "Three will suffice." Whereupon very loudly, "One." Then in a normal tone, "How many police have you within a radius of, say, three miles from Staplewick Towers?"
"One or two," Gage was forced to answer rather sheepishly.
The duke bowed, this time with a sarcastic smile.
"Two." Again the disturbing, superfluous shout. "How long would it take you to send for the nearest, supposing you found him at home?"
"Oh, about twenty minutes," Gage tried to reply casually.
Once more the absurdly loud enumeration. "Three. And how long do you consider it would take me to put a bullet through your body?"
Simultaneously with the question a glittering object shone in his hand. It was the highly polished barrel of a revolver which he had whipped out casually with a deftness which seemed born of practice, and with which he now covered his rival.