"He’s got the opening he wanted. Now, what on earth is he going to do with it?" said the General to himself as he watched keenly. "Rather a dangerous mission, I should say," was the Duke’s comment on the information imparted to him. "Dangerous! How can that be?" Leonie exclaimed, wondering. "United States Treasury bonds are not explosive." "No, but the world is full of sharps, Miss Sherman, and some of them might fancy having a shy for such a haul," said Beaumanoir with a trace more of earnestness than the occasion seemed to require. "If I had a relative starting on such an errand, I should be inclined to cable him to—ah—to look out for himself," he added in direct appeal to Mrs. Sherman. But the good lady laughed the suggestion to scorn, alleging playfully that "it would be as much as her place was worth" to tackle the Senator that way. It would be a hint that he wasn’t able to take care of himself or of his charge, and would be resented accordingly. The Duke abandoned the subject, but the General noted the disappointment in the tired eyes. "His Grace knows something. Let’s see—he was on his beam-ends when he was unearthed in New York," the old hunter of Thugs and Dacoits muttered under his gray mustache. Beaumanoir made no long stay after his ineffectual effort to sound a warning note. There had been no opportunity for individual talk; but in saying his adieus he had two words with Sybil, who had been observing her cousin quite as intently as, and a good deal more openly than, the General. "I’m going to look Alec up now, at his diggings in John Street," he said. "Probably I shall ask him to put me up to-night." "It’s a shame that you should have to do so," Sybil blurted in her boyish fashion. "You’ve been awfully good to us. I ought to have cleared out of Beaumanoir House at once, and I’ll ’git’ as soon as ever I can make other arrangements." "I beg you’ll do nothing of the kind," Beaumanoir made genial answer. "Alec is about the only friend I have, and—and I need a friend, Cousin Sybil. It has been a pleasure to serve him and you—if it can be called serving you," he added with a thoughtful gravity that puzzled the girl. She shook hands with a warmth that bespoke the death of old prejudices, and General Sadgrove, who had hardly exchanged two words with his visitor, accompanied him to the hall-door. "Are you walking, Duke? Or shall I whistle a cab?" he asked. Beaumanoir looked up the street and down the street, and gave a queer little shrug. "It won’t make any difference whether I walk or drive," he said. "Good-bye, General." Having gazed the limping figure out of sight, the General went back into the house and made for his private den—a cozy apartment crammed with Eastern spoils. There he leisurely selected a cigar and seated himself in a big saddle-bag chair. "There is something brewing," he growled gently. "I perceive a vibration in the moral atmosphere which quite recalls old days. I wonder what it means?"