These Old Shades
belied by his foppish appearance. His victim gave a whimper of pain and sank quivering to his knees.
"M'sieur! Ah, let me go! I did not mean—I did not know—I would not—Ah, m'sieur, let me go!"
His Grace bent over the boy, standing a little to one side so that the light of an adjacent street lamp fell on that white agonized countenance. Great violet-blue eyes gazed wildly up at him, terror in their depths.
Surely you are a little young for this game?" drawled the Duke. "Or did you think to take me unawares?"
The boy flushed, and his eyes grew dark with indignation.
"I did not seek to rob you! Indeed, indeed I did not! I—I was running away! I—oh, m'sieur, let me go!"
"In good time, my child. From what were you running, may I ask? From another victim?
"No! Oh, please let me go! You—you do not understand! He will have started in pursuit! Ah, please, please, milor'!"
The Duke's curious, heavy-lidded eyes never wavered from the boy's face. They had widened suddenly, and become intent.
"And who, child, is 'he'?"
"My—my brother. Oh, please———"
Round the corner of the alley came a man, full-tilt. At sight of Avon he checked. The boy shuddered, and now clung to Avon's arm.
"Ah!" exploded the new-comer. "Now, by God, if the whelp has sought to rob you, milor', he shall pay for it! You scoundrel! Ungrateful brat! You shall be sorry, I promise you! Milor', a thousand apologies! The lad is my young brother. I was beating him for his laziness when he slipped from me———"
The Duke raised a scented handkerchief to his thin nostrils.
"Keep your distance, fellow," he said haughtily. "Doubtless beating is good for the young."
The boy shrank closer to him. He made no attempt to escape, but his hands twitched convulsively. Once again the Duke's strange eyes ran over him, resting for a moment on
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