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 “Liverpool is in the north of England,” said the General after a pause, “and Sherman is due to arrive there to-day.”

“I cannot and will not believe that Beaumanoir has gone wrong after all,” Forsyth angrily replied to his uncle’s significant remark. He spoke with such heat that neither of them noticed that the library door had been opened and that Mrs. Talmage Eglinton stood there, smiling at them.

“Who has gone wrong?” she purred sweetly. “For goodness’ sake, don’t tell me that the Duke has run away with a housemaid!”

She was looking at Forsyth with eyes that bored like gimlets, and he thought of the letter from Ziegler, addressed to the Duke, entrusted to him the day before. Was it something in that letter that made her stare so steadfastly and yet with something of mockery in her gaze? Having good reason to be aware of the contents of that letter, he thought it likely. Only in that case calculations had been all at sea, and Beaumanoir—alas, poor Beaumanoir!

It was the General who answered the lady’s banter, and that without any visible discomfiture. “No, it isn’t the Duke who has gone