The Double Wager

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Fifteen minutes later, Philip opened the door to Henry's room without knocking.

"She probably left it in here somewhere," he said over his shoulder.

"Unless she took it with her," Penelope added from directly behind him.

"Oh, dear, this does not feel right," Miss Manford wailed from the rear. "Whatever would we say if your sister unexpectedly returned or if his Grace appeared?"

"You know from what we told you this morning, Ma

"It's a good thing we were passing through the hall when it arrived," Penelope added.

"It is probably just an invitation or a notice from a dressmaker," said Miss Manford.

Brutus, meanwhile, galloped past the arguing trio and began to play with a ball of paper that was lying on the floor.

"Brutus, get away from there. That might be it," yelled Penelope, grabbing his hindquarters and hauling him backward, in vain.

"Woof!" replied the dog, enjoying the game and returning to the paper again.

"Good dog! Give!" Philip ordered, but when Brutus showed no sign of obeying, he grabbed the dog's muzzle and tried to force his jaws apart.

"Oh, bless my soul!" wailed Miss Manford. "We shall all be discovered."

Brutus solved the problem by spotting a slipper across the room. He abandoned the paper for more attractive prey.

Penelope pounced on the letter, which was damp but intact, and smoothed it out on the floor.

Philip knelt beside her to read it. "He's sorry for last night!" he cried indignantly. "After mauling Henry around as if she were a chambermaid."

"Oh, dear," said Miss Manford, "I don't believe you should speak like that, dear boy."

"He is as slippery as a snake," Penelope said, "reminding her that she is in his debt and then saying that he does not wish to mention it."

"Snakes aren't slippery," Philip added irrelevantly, and then jumped into action. "Come on," he said, "we must follow her."

"To the park?" Penelope asked, eyes shining.

"We must make sure that he does not abduct her," Philip said.

"The park is a very public place, dear boy," Miss Manford said. "I do not believe your sister will be in any danger there. But I do believe we should confide in his Grace."

"No!" Philip and Penelope chorused together.

"Then perhaps Sir Peter," their governess suggested.

"Peter!" Philip said scornfully. "He would run straight to his Grace and advise him to beat Henry."

"Mr. Ridley?" Miss Manford suggested hesitantly.

Neither twin answered immediately. "He is so loyal to the duke," Penelope said finally. "He would probably tell. But if worse comes to worst, Ma

The twins collided in the doorway, Miss Manford was almost as eager to leave a room she felt she had no business inside, and Brutus, seeing his audience departing, charged out behind them, a pink slipper still dangling from his mouth.

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The Duke of Eversleigh was returning home from a short morning errand. He intended to change out of his riding clothes into an outfit more suitable for lunch at White's on St. James's Street. As his horse was cantering through the park, he became aware of a commotion ahead of him. There seemed to be a great number of persons and a great deal of noise involved. As he drew closer-an interested spectator, but one who intended to keep his distance he could see that someone was up in a tree, someone else on the ground below stretching up arms, someone lying in a mud puddle while a riderless horse danced skittishly around, someone holding with both hands the lead of a large and loudly barking dog, and someone else on horseback making no attempt to take command of the situation. These appeared to be the main players. There were several bystanders, all on foot, including a constable who was waving a club around but who appeared uncertain on whose head to bring it down.

It was the dog that gave away the identity of the group to the duke. He reined his horse to a walk as he drew closer, and approached the scene with all the nonchalance of one for whom such a scene is a daily occurrence.

"Down, Brutus,- old fellow," he commanded in a bored voice, and the huge canine, who had caused much of the commotion, according to the loud opinion of the bystanders, dropped on the spot and panted loudly, adoring eyes raised to its master. Miss Manford was released from the immediate danger of having her arms pulled from their sockets.

"Phil, are you pla

"I'm not stuck, sir," Philip hastened to assure Eversleigh. "But that cat is." He pointed to a thin and scraggly little creature clinging pathetically to a branch. "I have to move carefully because the branch gets pretty thin out there. And, Pen, for the dozenth time, move away from there. If I fall, you won't help me at all, but I will, flatten you."

"I'm here to catch the kitten," Penelope explained indignantly.

"The little lad will fall for sure," a buxom woman carrying a large, covered basket warned, "and all for a stray cat. Call 'im down, sir.

Eversleigh ignored her. "Move back, Pe

Most eyes were turned on the little drama. Eversleigh withdrew his; he did not feel that his brother-in-law was in any grave danger.

"Having a spot of trouble, Oliver?" he asked affably, swinging his glass in the direction of his cousin, who had already picked himself out of the mud, but who was gazing down at his thoroughly blackened cream buckskins with arms outstretched, not quite knowing how to clean himself up without; soiling his hands. He rounded on the duke in fury.

"If you do not keep that dog confined to the house, and if you do not exercise greater control over these totally undisciplined brats," he said, voice shaking, I shall shoot it."

"Dear me," replied his cousin mildly, I understand from your choice of pronoun that you mean the dog, not the twins, Oliver?"

Cranshawe glared. "You might make yourself useful and grab my horse, Marius," he said, "instead of sitting up there striking a pose."

"Ah," Eversleigh said, I take it you did not dismount voluntarily, then, Oliver?" He obligingly moved off to where Cranshawe's horse was now grazing quietly on the grass, and led him back to his heir, who was disgustedly slapping -it his mud-caked breeches.

Eversleigh turned his attention to his wife, who was staring intently into the tree where Philip was now little more than an arm's length from the shivering kitten.

"You are all right, my love?" he asked gently.

She turned a stony expression on him. "And why would I not be?" she asked.

"Ah, quite so," he agreed. "You need not worry, you know. Boys are almost invariably a great deal safer than they appear to be to adult onlookers."

"I know that!" she retorted scornfully, and dismounted suddenly after swinging her leg free of the sidesaddle. "Hang on, Phil!" she yelled. "You can't hold on to the cat and get back from there. I'll climb up and you can hand it to me."

Before the onlookers had a chance to dissuade her, she had swung up to the lower branches, long skirt and all, though she did tug impatiently at the plumed hat and send it to the ground.

" 'Ere, 'ere, lady, that's man's work," the constable remarked ineffectually when she was already well clear of the ground, but everyone ignored him.