“Only that I understand you are entertaining him this afternoon at Hugo’s home. If you ask me, he is not the sort of person Hugo would wish to enjoy his hospitality if he was at home.”

Lord Dorrington was suddenly alert.

“Will you kindly explain what you are saying?” he asked.

There was a note in his voice that made Lord Alvanley look at him in surprise.

“Well, as I passed Boodles on my way here,” Lord Worcester answered, “I met a chap I know and he asked me in for a drink. As we were chatting on the doorstep, I saw that damned Prince talking to your groom.”

Lord Dorrington said nothing but his eyes were on Lord Worcester’s face.

“As it happens, I could hear what he said,” Lord Worcester continued.

“‘I admire your Master’s horses,’ he remarked, ‘they are the finest in town.’

“‘Thank you, sir,’ your man replied.

“‘I wonder how long his Lordship took on the journey to the place in the country that he visited two or three days ago?’ the Prince went on. ‘I have to go there myself this afternoon.’

“‘Do you mean Major Wardell’s house, Shenley Manor, sir?’ your groom inquired.

“‘Yes, that is right,’ the Prince replied. ‘Which would you consider the quickest route?’

“‘Well, it took us only forty-nine minutes yesterday, sir,’ your groom answered. ‘And we went on the Epsom road.’

“‘And where does one turn off?’ the Prince enquired.”

Lord Worcester suddenly ceased speaking.

Lord Dorrington had risen to his feet with a look on his face that both his friends regarded as ominous. Without another word he walked swiftly from the dining room.

Lord Alvanley and Lord Worcester looked at each other.

“Do you think Dorrington was unaware that that dirty lecher was visiting his sister?” Lord Worcester asked.

“I am certain of it!” Lord Alvanley replied.

Lord Dorrington in the meantime had swung himself up into his high-perch phaeton and taken up the reins.

He drove his horses down St. James’s Street at a pace that surprised his groom and, glancing at the clock, asked,

“What time did Prince Ahmadi ask you the way to Shenley Manor?”

“Do you mean the dark-skinned gentleman, my Lord?” the groom enquired. “About half an hour ago.”

“And what was he driving?” Lord Dorrington asked.

“A curricle drawn by two horses, my Lord. Good horseflesh, but not of the finest.”

Lord Dorrington said no more, but settled down to tooling his team at a speed that his groom had never before experienced.

Lord Dorrington did not intend to rebuke his man for having inadvertently given away the location of Shenley Manor.

He had deliberately refrained from telling his servants not to speak of his visits there, because he knew only too well that to say something was secret was to draw attention to it.

He knew now that he was at fault in underestimating the astuteness of the Prince.