LITMIR.BIZ

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ground-floor?”

      “Yes, and I’ve got three men on every other floor,” said Bonavent, in a tone of satisfaction.

      “And the house next door?” said Guerchard.

      “There are a dozen men in it,” said Bonavent. “No communication between the two houses is possible any longer.”

      Guerchard watched the Duke’s face with intent eyes. Not a shadow flickered its careless serenity.

      “If any one tries to enter the house, collar him. If need be, fire on him,” said Guerchard firmly. “That is my order; go and tell the others.”

      “Very good, sir,” said Bonavent; and he went out of the room.

      “By Jove, we are in a regular fortress,” said the Duke.

      “It’s even more of a fortress than you think, your Grace. I’ve four men on that landing,” said Guerchard, nodding towards the door.

      “Oh, have you?” said the Duke, with a sudden air of annoyance.

      “You don’t like that?” said Guerchard quickly.

      “I should jolly well think not,” said the Duke. “With these precautions, Lupin will never be able to get into this room at all.”

      “He’ll find it a pretty hard job,” said Guerchard, smiling. “Unless he falls from the ceiling, or unless—”

      “Unless you’re Arsène Lupin,” interrupted the Duke.

      “In that case, you’d be another, your Grace,” said Guerchard.

      They both laughed. The Duke rose, yawned, picked up his coat and hat, and said, “Ah, well, I’m off to bed.”

      “What?” said Guerchard.

      “Well,” said the Duke, yawning again, “I was staying to see Lupin. As there’s no longer any chance of seeing him—”

      “But there is…there is…so stay,” cried Guerchard.

      “Do you still cling to that notion?” said the Duke wearily.

      “We shall see him,” said Guerchard.

      “Nonsense!” said the Duke.

      Guerchard lowered his voice and said with an air of the deepest secrecy: “He’s already here, your Grace.”

      “Lupin? Here?” cried the Duke.

      “Yes; Lupin,” said Guerchard.

      “Where?” cried the astonished Duke.

      “He is,” said Guerchard.

      “As one of your men?” said the Duke eagerly.

      “I don’t think so,” said Guerchard, watching him closely.

      “Well, but, well, but—if he’s here we’ve got him.… He is going to turn up,” said the Duke triumphantly; and he set down his hat on the table beside the coronet.

      “I hope so,” said Guerchard. “But will he dare to?”

      “How do you mean?” said the Duke, with a puzzled air.

      “Well, you have said yourself that this is a fortress. An hour ago, perhaps, Lupin was resolved to enter this room, but is he now?”

      “I see what you mean,” said the Duke, in a tone of disappointment.

      “Yes; you see that now it needs the devil’s own courage. He must risk everything to gain everything, and throw off the mask. Is Lupin going to throw himself into the wolf’s jaws? I dare not think it. What do you think about it?”

      Guerchard’s husky voice had hardened to a rough harshness; there was a ring of acute anxiety in it, and under the anxiety a faint note of challenge, of a challenge that dare not make itself too distinct. His anxious, challenging eyes burned on the face of the Duke, as if they strove with all intensity to pierce a mask.

      The Duke looked at him curiously, as if he were trying to divine what he would be at, but with a careless curiosity, as if it were a matter of indifference to him what the detective’s object was; then he said carelessly: “Well, you ought to know better than I. You have known him for ten years.…” He paused, and added with just the faintest stress in his tone, “At least, by reputation.”

      The anxiety in the detective’s face grew plainer, it almost gave him the air of being unnerved; and he said quickly, in a jerky voice: “Yes, and I know his way of acting too. During the last ten years I have learnt to unravel his intrigues—to understand and anticipate his manoeuvres.… Oh, his is a clever system!… Instead of lying low, as you’d expect, he attacks his opponent…openly.… He confuses him—at least, he tries to.” He smiled a half-confident, a half-doubtful smile, “It is a mass of entangled, mysterious combinations. I’ve been caught in them myself again and again. You smile?”

      “It interests me so,” said the Duke, in a tone of apology.

      “Oh, it interests me,” said Guerchard, with a snarl. “But this time I see my way clearly. No more tricks—no more secret paths…We’re fighting in the light of day.” He paused, and said in a clear, sneering voice, “Lupin has pluck, perhaps, but it’s only thief’s pluck.”

      “Oh, is it?” said the Duke sharply, and there was a sudden faint glitter in his eyes.

      “Yes; rogues have very poor qualities,” sneered Guerchard.

      “One can’t have everything,” said the Duke quietly; but his languid air had fallen from him.

      “Their ambushes, their attacks, their fine tactics aren’t up to much,” said Guerchard, smiling contemptuously.

      “You go a trifle too far, I think,” said the Duke, smiling with equal contempt.

      They looked one another in the eyes with a long, lingering look. They had suddenly the air of fencers who have lost their tempers, and are twisting the buttons off their foils.

      “Not a bit of it, your Grace,” said Guerchard; and his voice lingered on the words “your Grace” with a contemptuous stress. “This famous Lupin is immensely overrated.”

      “However, he has done some things which aren’t half bad,” said the Duke, with his old charming smile.

      He had the air of a duelist drawing his blade lovingly through his fingers before he falls to.

      “Oh, has he?” said Guerchard scornfully.

      “Yes; one must be fair. Last night’s burglary, for instance: it is not unheard of, but it wasn’t half bad. And that theft of the motorcars: it was a neat piece of work,” said the Duke in a gentle, insolent voice, infinitely aggravating.

      Guerchard snorted scornfully.

      “And a robbery at the British Embassy, another at the Treasury, and a third at M. Lepine’s—all in the same week—it wasn’t half bad, don’t you know?” said the Duke, in the same gentle, irritating voice.

      “Oh, no, it wasn’t. But—”

      “And the time when he contrived to pass as Guerchard—the Great Guerchard—do you remember that?” the Duke interrupted. “Come, come—to give the devil his due—between ourselves—it wasn’t half bad.”

      “No,” snarled Guerchard. “But he has done better than that lately.… Why don’t you speak of that?”

      “Of what?” said the Duke.

      “Of the time when he passed as the Duke of Charmerace,” snapped Guerchard.

      “What! Did he do that?” cried the Duke; and then he added slowly, “But, you know, I’m like you—I’m so easy to imitate.”

      “What would have been amusing, your Grace, would have been to get as far as actual marriage,”

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