"No, sir," answered the footman, the great Bisgood declining to notice the question. "Better turn the key on him," suggested Peckover. This unheard-of order Bisgood took upon himself to ignore likewise. In the abnormal state of affairs the strain on his dignity was nearly at breaking point. A footman who looked like going to put the suggestion into practice was loftily, but _sotto voce_, rebuked by his superior, and abandoned his intention. "I'll go and do it, by Jove," exclaimed Quorn, jumping up and leaving the room, at which action the scandalized Bisgood made no effort to hide his disgust. Quorn returned. "Got him safe," he said. "Is the library safe, though?" Peckover suggested shrewdly. "As if," remarked Gage bitterly, "we hadn't got our hands full without that great nuisance turning up to complicate matters. Let's get on with the wine while we've got any taste left in us," he added, filling his own glass and sending round the decanters. As Bisgood and his satellites withdrew, eager to find vent for their disgust in the servants'-hall, Peckover jumped up. "An idea!" he cried, brightening. "What do you say having this beast, Leo, in, and passing him off to the duke as Lord Quorn?" "Not a bad idea," responded Gage, thinking it out. "Dashed good one," Peckover insisted. "How can you pass him off," objected Quorn. "He'll say he is not Quorn." "We've all said that," rejoined Peckover shrewdly. "All the same, one of us is that noble lord. We'll tell the duke that he is incog. for certain private reasons, and let 'em fight it out between themselves." "If any one can tackle that little spit-fire it's Carnaby," said Gage. "And if any one can hustle Carnaby it's the duke," added Quorn. "Whichever way it goes we shall be gainers," observed Gage. "But how about Ulrica?" "Oh, we'll work her into it all right," Peckover replied confidently. "Let's have the ruffian in and give him some pop." "Hark!" cried Quorn, holding up his hand. As Gage opened the door there came across the hall from the library sounds suggestive of a domestic tornado. Their obvious message was that Mr. Carnaby Leo had discovered, and was resenting, the fact that he was more or less in durance, and was communicating his state of feelings through the medium of double-soled boots to the furniture in general and to the mahogany door in particular. "Let's buck up, and release the brute before he wrecks the place," said Peckover; "or he'll have no kick left in him for that Spanish beauty." He walked boldly to the door, and threw it open. "Anything wrong?" he inquired, with what was, under the circumstances, an irritating blandness. "Anything wrong?" roared Mr. Leo, lashing out backwards and kicking a chair, quite futilely, to a remote corner of the room. "No. But there's going to be. Lock me up, will you, you pair of skunks?" For Quorn had withdrawn to a somewhat obscure position. "I'll teach you----!"