I gave a gentle laugh, which obviously nettled Tommy. "Perhaps you think you could get away?" he said. The duke finished his whisky with some deliberation, and set down the empty glass on the floor. "Think!" he repeated. "I'm blinking well sure as no blinking salmon rod would 'old me 'arf a blinking minit." ("Blinking" was not the precise word that he used, but it will serve.) Tommy turned to me with a grin. "D'you feel like taking it on?" he asked. I looked the duke over with a critical eye. "Yes," I said; "I'll risk it." "Well, let's put it to him," said Tommy. "Look here, my friend, if you're so cocksure I can't land you, what d'you say to my having a shot at it?" The duke glanced suspiciously round the circle. "Wot do I get out of it?" he demanded. "You get out of going to quod," replied Tommy. "Whatever happens, we'll land you on the bank afterwards and let you clear off. That's a bargain." "And what's more," I put in, "I'll lay you a pound to nothing that you don't break the line. "Ye might make it a couple o' quid, guv'nor," observed his grace pathetically. "It's worth that to 'ave a damn great salmon 'ook shoved in yer." There was a roar of laughter from all three of us. "Well, he's a sportsman," I said, "whatever else he is." Then, turning to the duke, I explained that the performance would not be of quite such a realistic nature as he imagined. "We'll lend you a belt," I said, "and fasten the line to that. Then all you'll have to do will be to dive in and see if you can get clear." He rose with some alacrity. "Ho, if that's all, I'm bloomin' well on! It's a walk over, guv'nor--that's wot it is, a ruddy walk over." "He can have my belt," said Tommy, unstrapping the article in question and tossing it across. "I'll go and get a salmon rod. They're hanging up in the passage." He stepped through the archway, and took down a rod from the row of pegs, carrying it out through the side door into the garden, where we all three joined him. Both Mortimer and I felt hugely excited, but neither the duke nor Tommy betrayed any special emotion. "You'd better take your Sunday suit off," said the latter. "It'll give you a better chance." The duke shook his head. "I'll just shift me boots," he announced. "The water won't 'urt these 'ere duds." "On the contrary," said Mortimer unkindly, "it ought to do 'em a bit of good. But you'll find it devilish wet walking afterwards." "They'll dry quick enough," replied the duke, "with this 'ere sun." He sat down on the bank, and removed the decayed shreds of leather that decorated his feet. Then with some care he fastened Tommy's belt round his waist. "How are you going to fix the line?" I inquired. "That's simple enough," said Tommy. "There's a ring at the back, you see. I'll take off the hook and fasten the gut to that."