“Oh, yes; something of the kind occurred in the park at Prior’s Tarrant,” he angrily replied. “But all this about the man being mistaken for me is officious nonsense—too trivial to warrant your pushing your way into this young lady’s presence at eleven o’clock at night. I shall complain to your superiors of this most impertinent intrusion.”
“What could it mean?’ Sybil asked herself. The man’s nervous air—his attitude of listening—had disappeared. His sly face grew sleekly impudent under Beaumanoir’s rebuke and it was quite jauntily that he answered:
“Then I’ll bid your Grace good-night. Very possibly you’ll reconsider the advisability of raising the question at Scotland Yard.”
The clerical coat-tails went flapping down the room, the Duke following them to the door, where he handed their owner over to Prince, who was hovering in the hall. Having given a sharp order to “show the gentleman out,” Beaumanoir returned to Sybil, humbly apologetic, but with signs of haste in his manner.
“My dear cousin, I am more than annoyed at Prince’s laxity in admitting that fellow,” he said, taking her hand. “It is fortunate that
[94]
