Jack crumpled the paper furiously in his hand, grinding out a startling oath.
“——— insolent cur!”
“Yes, yes, sir! But what will that avail my daughter? I have come straight to you, for my sister is convinced you know this Everard, and can tell me where to seek them!”
Carstares clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Never fear, Mr. Beauleigh! I pledge you my word she shall be found this very night!”
“You know where he has taken her? You do? You are sure?”
“Back to his earth. I’ll lay my life; ’tis ever his custom.” He strode to the door, flung it wide and shot clear, crisp directions at the footman. “See to it that my mare is saddled in ten minutes and Blue Devil harnessed to your master’s curricle! Don’t stand staring—go! And send Salter to me!”
The footman scuttled away, pausing only to inform my lord that Salter was not in.
Carstares remembered that he had given Jim leave to visit his Mary at Filtering, and crushed out another oath. He sprang up the stairs, Mr. Beauleigh following breathlessly.
In his room, struggling with his boots, he put a few questions.
Mr. Beauleigh related the whole tale, dwelling mournfully on the excellent references for Harper he had received from Sir Hugh Grandison.
Jack hauled at his second boot.
“Tracy himself, of course!” he fumed, adjusting his spurs.
“Pray, Mr. Carr, who is this scoundrel? Is it true that you know him?”
“Andover,” answered Jack from the depths of the garde-robe. “Damn the fellow, where has he put my cloak?” This to the absent Jim, and not the Duke.
“Andover! Not—surely not the Duke?” cried Mr. Beauleigh.
