"Was it a man?"
Mr. Dacre's drawl became still more pronounced.
"I rather fancy that it was."
Mr. Dacre expected something. The duke was so excited. But he by no means expected what actually came.
"Ivor, she's been kidnaped!"
Mr. Dacre did what he had never been known to do before within the memory of man—he dropped his eyeglass.
"Datchet!"
"She has! Some scoundrel has decoyed her away, and trapped her. He's already sent me a lock of her hair, and he tells me that if I don't let him have five hundred pounds in gold by half-past five he'll let me have her little finger."
Mr. Dacre did not know what to make of his grace at all. He was a sober man—it couldn't be that! Mr. Dacre felt really concerned.
"I'll call a cab, old man, and you'd better let me see you home."