Tracy moved his head impatiently.

“I have no choice.”

“Monsieur, that is not an answer. Have I your parole?”

“Yes, curse you!”

“But certainly,” said Jack politely. “Pray rise.”

He rested his sword-point on the ground, and watched Tracy struggle to his feet.

For an instant the Duke stood staring at him, with face slightly out-thrust.

“I almost think I know you,” he said softly, caressingly.

Jack’s French accent became a shade more pronounced.

“It is possible. I at least have the misfortune to know monsieur by sight.”