"Do you mean to tell me that the duchess got out of the carriage while you were driving full pelt through the streets without saying anything to you, and without you noticing it?" "The carriage was empty when we got home, your grace." "Was either of the doors open?" "No, your grace." "You fellows have been up to some infernal mischief. You have made a mess of it. You never picked up the duchess, and you're trying to palm this tale off on me to save yourselves." Barnes was moved to adjuration: "I'll take my Bible oath, your grace, that the duchess got into the carriage outside Cane and Wilson's." Moysey seconded his colleague. "I will swear to that, your grace. She got into that carriage, and I shut the door, and she said, 'Home, Moysey!'" The duke looked as if he did not know what to make of the story and its tellers. "What carriage did you have?" "Her grace's brougham, your grace." Knowles interposed: "The brougham was ordered because I understood that the duchess was not feeling very well, and there's rather a high wind, your grace." The duke snapped at him: "What has that to do with it? Are you suggesting that the duchess was more likely to jump out of a brougham while it was dashing through the streets than out of any other kind of vehicle?" The duke's glance fell on the letter which Knowles had brought him when he first had entered. He had placed it on his writing table. Now he took it up. It was addressed: "_To His Grace the Duke of Datchet_. _Private!_ VERY PRESSING!!!" The name was written in a fine, clear, almost feminine hand. The words in the left-hand corner of the envelope were written in a different hand. They were large and bold; almost as though they had been painted with the end of the penholder instead of being written with the pen. The envelope itself was of an unusual size, and bulged out as though it contained something else besides a letter. The duke tore the envelope open. As he did so something fell out of it on to the writing table. It looked as though it was a lock of a woman's hair. As he glanced at it the duke seemed to be a trifle startled. The duke read the letter: "Your grace will be so good as to bring five hundred pounds in gold to the Piccadilly end of the Burlington Arcade within an hour of the receipt of this. The Duchess of Datchet has been kidnaped. An imitation duchess got into the carriage, which was waiting outside Cane and Wilson's, and she alighted on the road. Unless your grace does as you are requested, the Duchess of Datchet's left-hand little finger will be at once cut off, and sent home in time to receive the prince to dinner. Other portions of her grace will follow. A lock of her grace's hair is inclosed with this as an earnest of our good intentions.