‘There is nothing I can do,’ the Duke mumbled to himself, ‘except to hope that Valona’s prophecy will come true.’
Rose and Gerald had told him all that Valona had said, but he did not believe a word of it.
He had heard so many predictions about horses as to which would quite certainly win the Grand National, or the Gold Cup at Ascot and the poor owner was often very disappointed when the day came.
He had also proved to himself that it was almost impossible to win at roulette – the lucky charms which so many punters carried with them at Monte Carlo were just a load of rubbish.
It was just a way, he thought, of extracting money from people who were stupid enough to believe what they were told – they just expected miracles when the dice were loaded against them.
And that, at this precise
