Tales of two people

“I therefore determined to live my own life in my own way – ”

“I think you said you had been to college?”

“Yes, but I had a difference of – ”

“Quite so. Pray proceed,” said the Duke courteously.

“And to run away with my fiancé. In pursuance of this plan, I arranged to meet him to-night at his villa at Hampstead. He sent a brougham to fetch me, I made my escape successfully, and the rest you know.”

“Pardon me, but up to this point the part played by the flagon which you see on the table before you is somewhat obscure.”

“Oh, when you’d gone to pack his things, he took out a curious little instrument – he said he had forgotten his key – and opened the cabinet on the mantelpiece. Then he took out that pretty mug and gave it to me as my wedding present. He told me that it was very valuable, and he would carry it for me himself, but I declared that I must carry it for myself or I wouldn’t go. So he let me. And then you – ”

“The whole thing is perfectly plain,” declared the Duke with emphasis. “You, madam, have been the victim of a most dastardly and cold-blooded plot. This fellow is a swindler. I daresay he wanted to get hold of you, and thus extort money from your aunt, but his main object was no other than to carry off the famous cup which you see before you – the Queen Bess flagon.” And the Duke, rising to his feet, began to walk up and down in great indignation. “He meant to kill two birds with one stone!” said he, in mingled anger and admiration.

“It is pretty,” said the young lady, taking up the flagon. “Oh, what is this figure?”

The Duke, perceiving that the lady desired an explanation, came and leant over her chair. She turned her face up to his in innocent eagerness; the Duke could not avoid observing that she had very fine eyes. Without making any comment on the subject, however, he leant a little lower and began to explain the significance of the figure on the Queen Bess flagon.

The Duke has been known to say that, in a world so much the sport of chance as ours, there was no reason why he should not have fallen in love with the young lady and offered to make her in very truth what she had dreamed of becoming – the Duchess of Belleville.

Her eyes were very fine, her manner frank and engaging. Moreover, the Duke hated to see people disappointed. Thus the thing might just as well have happened as not. And on so narrow a point did the issue stand that to this day certain persons declare that it – or part of it – did happen; for why, and on what account, they ask, should an experienced connoisseur (and such undoubtedly was the Duke of Belleville) present a young lady previously unknown to him (or, for the matter of that, any young lady at all, whether known or not known to him) with such a rare, costly, and precious thing as the Queen Bess flagon? For the fact is – let the meaning and significance of the fact be what they will – that when the young lady, gazing fondly the while on the flagon, exclaimed, “I never really cared about him much, but I should have liked the beautiful flagon!” the Duke answered (he was still leaning over her chair, in order the better to explain and trace the figure on the flagon):

“Of him you are well rid. But permit me to request your acceptance of the flagon. The real Duke of Belleville, madam, must not be outdone by his counterfeit.”

“Really?” cried the young lady.

“Of course,” murmured the Duke, delighted with the pleasure which he saw in her eyes.

The young lady turned a most grateful and almost affectionate glance on the Duke. Although ignorant of the true value of the Queen Bess flagon, she was aware that the Duke had made her a very handsome present.

“Thank you,” said she, putting her hands into the Duke’s.

At this moment a loud and somewhat strident voice proceeded from the door of the room.

“Well, I never! And how did you come here?”

The Duke, looking round, perceived a stout woman, clad in a black petticoat and a woollen shawl; her arms were akimbo.

“We came in, madam,” said he, rising and bowing, “by the hall door, which we chanced to find open.”

The stout woman appeared to be at a loss for words. At length, however, she gasped out:

“Be off with you. Don’t let the Inspector catch you here!”

The Duke looked doubtfully at the young lady.

“The woman probably misunderstands,” he murmured. The young lady blushed slightly. The Inspector’s wife advanced with a threatening demeanour.

“Who are you?” she asked abruptly.

“I, madam,” began the Duke, “am the – ”

“I don’t see that it matters who we are,” interposed the young lady.

“Possibly not,” admitted the Duke, with a smile.

The young lady rose, went to a little mirror that hung on the wall, and adjusted the curls which appeared from under the brim of her hat.

“Dear me,” said she, turning round with a sigh, “it must be nearly three o’clock, and my aunt always likes me to be in before daybreak.”

The stout woman gasped again.

“Because of the neighbours, you know,” said the young lady with a smile.

“Just so,” assented the Duke, and possibly he would have added more, had not the woman uttered an inarticulate cry and pointed to his feet.

“Really, madam,” remarked the Duke, with some warmth, “it would have been in better taste not to refer to the matter.” And with a severe frown he offered his arm to the young lady. They then proceeded towards the doorway. The Inspector’s wife barred the passage. The Duke assumed a most dignified air. The woman reluctantly gave away. Walking through the passage, the young lady and the Duke found themselves again in the open air. There were signs of approaching dawn.

“I really think I had better get home,” whispered the young lady.

At this moment – and the Duke was not in the least surprised – they perceived four persons approaching them. The Inspector walked with his arm through the arm of the young man who had claimed to be the Duke of Belleville; following, arm-in-arm with the driver of the brougham, came the policeman whose uniform the Duke had borrowed. All the party except the Inspector looked uneasy. The Inspector appeared somewhat puzzled. However, he greeted the Duke with a cry of welcome.

“Now we can find out the truth of it all!” he exclaimed.

“To find out truth,” remarked the Duke, “is never easy and not always desirable.”

“I understand that you are the Duke of Belleville?” asked the Inspector.

“Certainly,” said the Duke.

“Bosh!” said the young man. “Oh, you know me, Inspector Collins, and I know you, and I’m not going to try and play it on you any more. But this chap’s no more the Duke than I am, and I should have thought you might have known one of your own policemen!”

The Inspector turned upon him fiercely.

“None of your gab, Joe Simpson,” said he. Then turning to the Duke, he continued, “Do you charge the young woman with him, your Grace?” And he pointed significantly to the Queen Bess flagon, which the young lady carried in an affectionate grasp.

“This lady,” said the Duke, “has done me the honour of accepting a small token of my esteem. As for these men, I know nothing about them.” And he directed a significant glance at the young man. The young man answered his look. The policeman seemed to grow more easy in his mind. “Then you don’t charge any of them?” cried the Inspector, bewildered.

“Why, no,” answered the Duke. “And I suppose they none of them charge me?”

Nobody spoke. The Inspector took out a large red handkerchief and mopped his brow.

“Well, it beats me,” he said. “I know pretty well what these two men are; but if your Grace don’t charge ’em, what can I do?”

“Nothing, I should suppose,” said the Duke blandly. And, with a slight bow, he proceeded on his way, the young lady accompanying him. Looking back once, he perceived the young man and the driver of the brougham going off in another direction with quick furtive steps, while the Inspector and the policeman stood talking together outside the door of the house.

“The circumstances, as a whole, no doubt appear peculiar to the Inspector,” observed the Duke, with a smile.