“Your car here, Harker?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes. Just round the corner.”
“Take Miss Ganges in it, will you.”
Before another word could be said, he had jumped in beside Tommy, and the car rolled smoothly away.
“A very delicate matter,” murmured the Duke. “I can soon acquaint you with all the details.”
Tommy raised his hand to his head.
“I can remove my eyeshade now,” he observed pleasantly. “It was only the glare of artificial light in the Restaurant necessitated its use.”
But his arm was jerked down sharply. At the same time he felt something hard and round being poked between his ribs. “No, my dear Mr. Blunt,” said the Duke’s voice—but a voice that seemed suddenly different. “You will not remove that eyeshade. You will sit perfectly still and not move in any way. You understand? I don’t want this pistol of mine to go off. You see, I happen not to be the Duke of Blairgowrie at all. I borrowed his name for the occasion, knowing that you would not refuse to accompany such a celebrated client. I am something much more prosaic—a ham merchant who has lost his wife.”
He felt the start the other gave.
“That tells you something,” he laughed. “My dear young man, you have been incredibly foolish. I’m afraid—I’m very much afraid that your activities will be curtailed in future.”
He spoke the last words with a sinister relish.
Tommy sat motionless. He did not reply to the other’s taunts.