“The man in the street,” said the Duke, the phrase bringing to his mind an unpleasant reminiscence, “has been waiting outside my gates all day for a peep. I don’t know what we are coming to when our very privacy is invaded.” “It is a sign of these times of undesirable publicity,” Playford answered, almost with a yawn. He had not come there to listen to his Grace’s platitudinous complaints, and was awaiting his opportunity for something else. As for the Lancashires, why, who can bring himself to sympathize with a Duke and Duchess in their social embarrassments? Are they not considered to stand too high on their pedestals for the sympathy of the crowd below to reach them, and to deserve any little exposure which their exalted position invites? At any rate, they were just now but the king and queen of Aubrey Playford’s chess-board. “I don’t think you need fear any pointing of scandal’s finger at you,” he observed, with a confidence-imparting smile. “The question which will be agitating everybody’s mind, when once they have arrived at the real bearings of the business, will be, who was the lady?” “Ah, yes,” exclaimed the Duke, somewhat relieved. “But, Aubrey,” the Duchess protested, “we are as much in the dark there as anybody else.” Playford’s dark eyes looked hungrily shrewd. “You have no idea, Duchess?” he asked, with a touch of incredulity. “Not the remotest,” she replied. “I wish we had,” chimed in the Duke, and then fell to wondering vaguely exactly what he would do with the information if he had it. The Duchess had her eyes fixed on her visitor’s shrewd face. “You know, Aubrey?” she demanded, with a look of conviction. Playford’s astute smile broadened as he shook his head. “Not I, Duchess. But I might perhaps give a guess for what it is worth.” “Let’s have it,” cried the Duke, all attention. Playford looked inscrutable. “It is dangerous work guessing,” he returned, “unless one has something to go upon. I was only suggesting it that the hounds of scandal may prefer to follow that fox to this if there should be a cross-scent.” “Quite so,” the Duke agreed, none the less confidently that the idea had never occurred to him. The Duchess was reflecting. “We have not much to go upon,” she said slowly. “It was so long ago.” “You have,” suggested Playford, “the ornament, the diamond hair-pin, was it not, that the man found?” “Ah, yes.” She turned to him with alert scrutiny. “That won’t be claimed,” said the Duke, with a short laugh. “Claimed! How stupid you are, John!” Her impatient exclamation scarcely took her eyes from Playford’s face. “It will probably be claimed by Scotland Yard,” remarked that gentleman with easy premonition. “I am surprised they have not been here yet. I see, though, they say they have no knowledge of the affair. So like them. Perhaps they expected to be sent for. May I see the thing before it goes?”