The chappie who had been brooding suddenly gave tongue.

“Say!”

He was a stout sort of well-fed cove with one of those determined chins and a cold eye.

The assemblage looked at him.

“As a matter of business,” said the chappie⁠—“mind you, I’m not questioning anybody’s good faith, but, as a matter of strict business⁠—I think this gentleman here ought to put himself on record before witnesses as stating that he really is a duke.”

“What do you mean, sir?” cried the old boy, getting purple.