"
His Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair, and looked
stonily at my friend.
"Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for pleasantry."
"Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life."
"What do you mean, then?"
"I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is,
and I know some, at least, of those who are holding him."
The Duke's beard had turned more aggressively red than ever
against his ghastly white face.
"Where is he?" he gasped.
"He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two
miles from your park gate."
The Duke fell back in his chair.
"And whom do you accuse?"
Sherlock Holmes's answer was an astounding one. He stepped
swiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.
"I accuse YOU," said he. "And now, your Grace, I'll trouble you
for that cheque."
Never shall I forget the Duke's appearance as he sprang up and
clawed with his hands like one who is sinking into an abyss.
Then, with an extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command,
he sat down and sank his face in his hands. It was some minutes
before he spoke.
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