"I am ashamed to have stayed so long," said their guest, with an expressive glance at the clock. "But it is better to risk missing the strict punctilio than to have to intrude again. Your excellency's house and park are delightful. I felicitate myself on my visit. Your cigars are exquisite. I take another, in token of our better understanding, to enjoy on my way to your somewhat depressing Great Bunbury. Good-night, milord Quorn. Good-night, Mr. Gage. A thousand compliments and adieux to you both. May it never be necessary for us to meet on less amicable terms than those which prevail between us at present. Once again my most distinguished homage. Adieu." With his heels together he made to each man a most profound bow; then turned to the window, opened it with a sure touch upon the latch, turned again, bowed, and disappeared into the night. For some moments the two men stood staring speechless into the darkness. Then their eyes met. "This is a glorious title," said Gage, clipping out the words with bitter intensity. "I am having a ripping time with it. It's a fine thing to be alive just now." "All things considered, it's lucky we are alive," was Peckover's dry but feeling response. CHAPTER XXXII "Tell you what it is, Percival, my boy," said Gage at breakfast next morning; "I've had about enough of nobility. Grandeur and aristocracy have too many inconveniences to suit me. I've a mind to clear out, and hand you back this precious title of yours." Peckover laughed awkwardly. "Don't do that yet awhile, old man," he urged. "You haven't given it a fair trial." "It has given me one," was the prompt and pointed retort. "And it strikes me if I don't look sharp and get out of the peacock's feathers I shall soon be pecked to death. That Salolja chap last night was an eye-opener." "Unpleasant customer," his friend agreed. "Unpleasant? Noisy little devil!" "Barking dogs don't bite," observed Peckover, but without conviction. "I wouldn't trust him," returned Gage with the firmness the other's remark lacked. "These Spaniards are the very deuce when they're jealous. They get simply mad. And nobody on this earth is safe from a loose madman if he takes it into his head to go for you. Our friend, the duke, meant business." "Only so long as you interfere between him and Miss Buffkin," Peckover agreed. "How was I to know what I was being let in for?" Gage exclaimed in an aggrieved tone. "When the old lady mentioned a foreign chap who'd been dancing after Ulrica I naturally thought it was some monkeyish fellow who'd squirm if you shook hands too hard, and would cry if you spoke to him unkindly. She never gave us a hint she'd got a bald Beelzebub with a voice that sends you the jumps and a homicidal history that gives you the shivers--to say nothing of that sickening revolver. Ugh! I can see the gleam of it now, as I've seen it all night. I was on the point of trying to get in first shot with a champagne bottle."