CHAPTER EIGHTThe Duke was just finishing his breakfast when Harry Sheraton was announced.
He entered the room in the magnificent glory of the uniform of the Life Guards, his breastplate shining in the sunshine from the window, the spurs clinking on his thigh-high boots and he carried under his arm the helmet with horsehair crest and plumes designed by the Prince Regent.
“God, Harry!” the Duke exclaimed, looking up from a dish of lamb cutlets embellished with truffles and cream. “You clank like the bell in a damned belfry! Sit down before you deafen me.”
“On my way to the Barracks,” Harry Sheraton replied. “Heard you back, Theron. Could not resist just looking in to hear if you had found a blushing bride!”
“I have not,” the Duke answered, “but I have found your Bullion thieves!”
“Found
