family. Might I ask if the Duke is expected here to-night?”
“No, he isn’t. What do you want him for?” snapped Sybil.
The aplomb of the question seemed to take the inquisitor back. He glanced curiously at the girl in the high-backed arm-chair, first scanning her tenacious little face, but quickly dropping his shifty eyes to the carelessly crossed shoes.
He began to “hem” and “ha.”
“The fact of the matter is, we have had a communication from the county police at Prior’s Tarrant, in respect of an assault on one of the servants in the park yesterday. The local people think the attack may have been intended for the Duke, and they have wired us to make inquiries.”
The reason alleged for his visit sounded plausible, and in some degree might account for the hunted look she had surprised in the Duke’s eyes. Yet she was not altogether satisfied. It was conceivable that the police should want to question the Duke, but the excuse for intruding on her at such an hour hardly seemed adequate.
“I am still at a loss to see how I can be of
[92]
