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 swiftly out of the inner room with a heavily sealed letter in his hand.

“This,” said Ziegler’s aide-de-camp, “is the packet which my chief wishes you to deliver to the Duke of Beaumanoir. You are alive to the importance of seeing that it reaches its destination without being lost or tampered with?”

“My dear sir, I should not, I imagine, have been entrusted with this very uncongenial errand unless I had been thought capable of carrying it out,” replied Forsyth, in a tone of annoyance.

“Take it, then,” Benzon proceeded. “And you are, please, to inform his Grace that Mr. Ziegler, though he would have preferred to see him in person, is satisfied with the discretion of his emissary.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I need a testimonial from Mr. Ziegler to recommend me to the Duke,” replied Forsyth, coolly, as he buttoned the letter into the breast-pocket of his frock coat and with a bow took his departure.

Out in the corridor he breathed more freely. “I don’t think that I overdid my exhibition of temper,” he told himself. “A little touchiness was to be expected under the circumstances.”