A grim smile played round the Senator’s firm lips when, after going through the needful formalities with the purser, he quitted the steamer’s stronghold, carrying the leather despatch-box. He would lead the rascal on, making his mouth water, gently titillate his expectations, and then, having got him fairly on the hooks, hand him over to the police. Delighted with the prospect of thwarting a rogue, he sought his state-room to collect his personal baggage and have it conveyed ashore. The first thing that met his eye on entering the state-room was a letter in his wife’s handwriting that had just been delivered. It bore date of the previous day, and informed him that the writer and Leonie were staying as the guests of the Duke of Beaumanoir at his country seat, Prior’s Tarrant. Mrs. Sherman went on to explain the circumstances, so far as she was aware of them, of the invitation, and she wound up with the hope that the Senator would join them immediately on landing. The Duke, who was the embodiment of affability, had cordially expressed that wish, she wrote; without, however, mentioning the Duke’s intention of going to Liverpool to meet the _Campania_. Senator Sherman read the letter twice, assured himself of the authenticity of the handwriting, examined the postmark, and—made a wry face. It looked as if he had been too hasty in jumping to a conclusion about the young man waiting for him on the hurricane-deck, and he began to regret the curt demeanor he had assumed. He was not quite convinced, however, owing to the absence of any allusion to the Duke meeting him—in itself an extraordinary proceeding. Good republican as he was, the Senator fully appreciated the cleavage of English class distinctions, and he was aware that great nobles do not, as a rule, wait at seaport towns to welcome perfect strangers. It was possible that the depressed individual on deck might, after all, be a criminal who had discovered Mrs. Sherman’s visit to the Duke of Beaumanoir and was turning his knowledge to evil account. Still, though caution was called for, his wife’s letter invested the man’s story with a credibility which it had wholly lacked, and when he rejoined him the Senator’s manner was altered accordingly. The Duke having telegraphed for the carriage to meet them at Tarrant Road, they took a cab together to Lime Street station, and were fortunate enough to find a train on the point of starting. It was a corridor express, made up entirely of vestibule cars, and the fact caused the Duke an annoyance which partially revived the Senator’s suspicions. "I don’t like this," Beaumanoir said, glancing with what looked very like dismay up and down the well-filled car as they took their seats. "I should have preferred an ordinary first-class compartment that we could have had reserved." "Ah! I suppose a duke is bound to be a bit exclusive," said the Senator, guardedly.