observer would not have failed to notice, that the hands of both were big, as the hands of men used to manual labour.

They stood on either side of the tiled path that led through the strip of front garden to the door, and watched in silence, the rapid unloading of their modest property.

Willie Outram, frankly a reporter, mentally noted the absence of piano, whatnot, mirror and all the paraphernalia peculiar to the Kymott Crescent drawing-room. He saw bundles of skins, bundles of spears, tomahawks (imagine his ecstasy!) war drums, guns, shields and trophies of the chase. Bedroom furniture that would disgrace a servant's attic, camp bedsteads, big lounge chairs and divans. Most notable absentee from the furnishings was She—a fact which might have served as food for discussion for weeks, but for the more important discovery he made later.

A man-servant busied himself directing the removers, and the elder of the two tenants, at last said—

"That's finished, Duke."

He spoke with a drawling, lazy, American accent.

The young man nodded, and called the servant.

"We shall be back before ten," he said in a pleasant voice.

"Very good, m'lord," replied the man with the slightest of bows.

The man looked round and saw Willie.

"Hank," he said, "there's the information bureau—find out things."

The elder jerked his head invitingly, and Willie sidled into the garden.

"Bub," said Hank, with a hint of gloom in his voice, "Where's the nearest saloon?"

He did not quite comprehend.

Willie gasped.

"Saloon, sir!"

"Pub," explained the young man, in a soft voice.

"Public-house, sir?" Willie faltered correctly.

Hank nodded, and the young man chuckled softly.

"There is," said the outraged youth, "a good-pull-up-for-carmen, at the far end of Kymott Road, the far end," he emphasized carefully.

"At the far end, eh?" Hank looked round at his companion, "Duke, shall we walk or shall we take the pantechnicon?"

"Walk," said his grace promptly.

Willie saw the two walking away. His young brain was in a whirl. Here was an epoch-making happening, a tremendous revolutionary and unprecedented circumstance—nay, it was almost monstrous, that there should come into the ordered life of Kymott Crescent so disturbing a factor.

The agitated youth watched them disappearing, and as the consciousness of his own responsibility came to him, he sprinted after them.

"I say!"

They turned round.

"You—here I say!—you're not a duke, are you—not a real duke?" he floundered.

Hank surveyed him kindly.

"Sonny," he said impressively, "this is the realest duke you've ever seen: canned in the Dukeries an' bearin' the government analyst's certificate."

"But—but," said the bewildered boy, "no larks—I say, are you truly a duke?"

He looked appealingly at the younger man whose eyes were dancing.

He nodded his head and became instantly grave.

"I'm a truly duke," he said sadly, "keep it dark."

He put his hand in his pocket, and