Mr. Fox rubbed his chin. “Devil take me if I know,” he said after some thought. “But you can’t leave a corpse on the road, Dominic. People might see it on the way back to town. Ladies won’t like it”

His lordship had raised a pinch of snuff to one classic nostril, but he paused before he sniffed. “I hadn’t thought of that” he admitted. A gleam, possibly of amusement, stole into his eyes. He glanced at the lackey who still held his damaged greatcoat. “There is a corpse somewhere on the road to town. Mr. Fox does not wish it there. Remove it.”

The lackey was far too well trained to display emotion, but he was a little shaken. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “What does your lordship want done with it, if you please?”

“I have no idea,” said his lordship. “Charles, what do you want done with it?”

“Egad, what is to be done with a corpse in the middle of Hounslow Heath?” demanded Mr. Fox. “I’ve a notion it should be delivered to a constable.”

“You hear,” said his lordship. “The corpse must be conveyed to town.”

“Bow Street,” interjected Mr. Fox.

“To Bow Street — with the compliments of Mr. Fox.”

“No, damme, I don’t take the credit for it, Dominic. Compliments of the Marquis of Vidal, my man.”

The lackey swallowed something in his throat, and said with a palpable effort: “It shall be attended to, sir.”

Mr. Fox looked at the Marquis. “I don’t see what else we can do, Dominic, do you?”

“We seem to have been put to a vast deal of inconvenience already,” replied the Marquis, dusting his sleeve with a very fine handkerchief. “I do not propose to bother my head further in the matter.”

“Then we may as well go upstairs,” said Mr. Fox.

“I await your pleasure, my dear Charles,” returned his lordship, and began leisurely to mount the shallow stairs.